Star Wars: A Lost Cause
by Dante-Raven
Summary: My take on what if Luke Skywalker had joined the Empire as opposed to the Rebel Alliance like he was planning to.
1. Prologue

Star Wars: The Skywalker Legacy

A Lost Cause 

**This is a "What if…" about Luke Skywalker joining the Empire like he was planning to in Episode IV until that fateful encounter with C-3PO and R2-D2 changed his destiny forever. Would Luke have realized his true destiny as a Jedi Knight? Would he have met his father in the Empire? Would Biggs have decided to join the Rebel Alliance? Would the Empire truly have another Darth Vader? Would the Death Star be the Juggernaut of the Galaxy? This Fan Fiction is my take on what if Luke Skywalker had joined the Empire as opposed to the Rebel Alliance. If this theory actually works, perhaps it would work as a trilogy: A Lost Cause; The Rebellion Strikes Back and some final installment pending on how this thing works out. But hey, who am I kidding, right? **

_Prologue _

He continued to look up at the twin stars setting on the horizon. His blond hair continued to flap in the gentle breeze as his oceanic blue eyes found himself wondering what adventures would await a farm boy such as himself. _Ah, delusions of grandeur,_ he thought to himself. _Biggs is right; I'm never going to get off this rock._

Luke turned around and walked into the dome shaped farm he had called home. Moisture farming had become something of a luxury and his uncle Owen had begun to harvest a greater crop with more and more droids. Yet somehow, he always seemed to need Luke, promising the young man that it would only take another season before he signed on to join the Empire in the fight against the Rebel Alliance. Heck, he'd join the Rebel Alliance if it meant getting off of this rock.

He found himself remembering the recent argument over dinner; about how Owen needed Luke for _2_ more seasons. What was the point of false promises when Luke knew Owen was holding him back? He had aspirations that rivaled the size of the Empire—which spanned through most of the known Galaxy.

Luke found himself resenting Owen. Even Beru could sense the turmoil and rift that was coming between them. _Why is he so ignorant? He knows I want to join the Academy and he still finds a way to stop me._ _He's holding me back! He's jealous because he is stuck being a moisture farmer when he knows I want to be like my father!_ He sighed. He could only remember the little things Owen or Beru mentioned about his father. So what if his father was a freighter jockey? He was still a skilled pilot and great person, even if he was murdered during the Clone Wars.

He found himself wondering about the Clones Wars. It seemed that being on a backwater planet had its limits. He didn't even know much about the Clone Wars. Even Owen didn't want to talk about it. Maybe old Ben knew. He seemed much more experienced than Owen and he seemed to have an appreciation for Luke. He decided he would ask Ben when he saw him. At least the hermit would tell him something.

"Luke!" A maternal voice called out. It was his aunt Beru. "Luke! We're about to shut down the power for the night; come in!"

"I'll be there in a minute!" He replied. Luke could only sigh visibly. Tomorrow would hold a brand new day of the same thing he'd be stuck doing for the rest of his life: moisture farming.

* * *

Above the golden gilded planet, sat a large wedge shaped vessel. It was a Star Destroyer: a symbol of power and might in the age of the Empire. In its berth, sat an oblong hammerhead vessel, burnt with the marks of a battle—presumably from the leviathan that held the smaller vessel.

Aboard the battered cruiser stood a dark figure, who loomed over the crumpled figures before him. The hallway, which used to be pristine and sparkled with its bright luminescence, was littered with bodies that lay still. The once spotless walls held the marks of blood and black carbon scoring from the earlier firefight. Nothing lived within that hallway except for the figure. And in many ways, that figure had been dead for a very long time. The only sign of life from him was the laboured breathing coming from the mechanical implants that kept him alive.

He surveyed the damage that was caused within the hallway and yet, there was still no trace of what he sought. His presence, black as the night itself, stilled, anticipating the precious bounty he had received in the form of a woman, carried by two of his own faceless yet terrifying white-armoured men as they approached him.

He came face to face with the young woman, who wore her chestnut brown hair as two buns at either side of her head. Her eyes held a softness akin to someone else he had known in his past. Her white gown had readily identified her as the Princess of Alderaan.

"Lord Vader," she snorted derisively, "only _you_ could be so bold. When the Senate hears that you have attacked a diplomatic--,"

He silenced her by replying, with his artificial voice, "We detected a transmission from a Rebel Alliance operative to this vessel." She seemed to also carry the fiery intensity akin to that someone else so long ago.

"Transmission? We received no—,"

"You've been aiding the Rebel Alliance and you're a traitor!" He declared. "Take her away!"

With that the Stormtroopers had followed their orders to the letter, eager not to anger this powerful figure. It appeared only _she_ had the ability to stand up to him.

He sighed internally, remembering days long since past, in his old age. _Has it been 20 years already?_ Before he could contemplate any further, a commander saying something he took no interest in interrupted him.

"My Lord, if news of this gets out, it could spread sympathy for the Rebel Alliance," a commander replied.

"I have traced the Rebel Alliance to her. Now she is my only key to them." He walked away, eager to let the stormtroopers strip the ship from bow to stern to find the missing plans. The plans that had been in the making for over a thousand years.

"She would rather die than tell you," he replied.

"Leave that to me, Commander."

"My Lord," another officer approached, wearing the black suit of an Imperial gunner. "An escape pod was jettisoned earlier during the fighting into the planet below."

"That is where we will find the plans. Have our troops commence with the search on the planet—and quarantine it."

"Yes, milord."

He smiled smugly. Soon the plans would be back in their grasp and then the Rebel Alliance would not stand a chance. For now, he would have to inform the Emperor and make his way towards the Death Star—the new battle station that would mean the end of the Rebel Alliance and seal the presence of the Empire.

He knew it would only be a matter of time until he would find a suitable apprentice and remove the Emperor. It would only be a matter of time until _he_ ruled the Galaxy. It was the way of the Sith. The way of maintaining order.


	2. Friends of Old

_Friends of Old _

He awoke sometime during the day. He couldn't tell whether it was already early afternoon or if most of the morning was gone. He didn't care anymore. What was the point of doing anything when he knew Owen would keep holding him back? His friends were gone—most had joined the Academy, others had found their ways off planet running odd jobs. Luke, as always, was left behind.

He sighed once more as he shifted his legs and rolled over to lie down on his stomach. He threw his sheet over him, hoping that they wouldn't notice him. He needed to leave this planet. More importantly, he needed a life.

He found himself remembering something about the past: how he asked Owen and Beru about his parents. After all, Owen _was_ his father's stepbrother, right? The old man had shifted uncomfortably and said _some_ things about his father.

His head rose as something occurred to him. Why didn't they have something from his father? A keepsake? A holovid? Anything. These people had been holding him back for far longer than he had expected. And—it now seemed to Luke—have been keeping far too many secrets from him.

He found his anger rising as he continued to find that ever since the beginning they had been holding him back. They had lied to him and they had been too secretive. If they had loved him, why didn't they tell him what he wanted to know? Would it be so bad? He rose as he felt the muscles in his arm tense and knew that he wanted to _hurt_ something—no, _someone_.

He wanted to make Owen suffer for all the times the old man held him back. He wanted to make Owen suffer, beg and cry to Luke, pleading with him not to go. Luke was a man and no one should change his mind. No, he wouldn't help the old man today, not for anything. He rose and began to walk across his dark, messy room. He tapped a key on the round obelisk-like console in the center of the room to reveal fresh light.

He yawned and scratched his chin, where he would have had facial hair. For some reason he had been _too_ clean-shaven for a while. He wondered if Owen had somehow managed to hold that back too. He chuckled bitterly at the thought of the old man using a whip and barking orders at a group of helpless hair strands. Somehow it seemed fitting of the old man.

Sighing, Luke tapped the console again—hoping to hear important news—as he made his way to the refresher.

The console played news from the Holonet, mentioning vaguely about some battle between the Rebellion and the Empire. It continued to play messages; most of them useless get rich quick schemes, until it came across something that caused Luke to struggle not to fall in the shower.

A blue-hued image of a young man with black hair and a black mustache appeared. He wore a trim outfit, highlighted by his silver cape draped across one of his broad shoulders. He stood tall and proud, smiling and eager. It was Luke's childhood friend—Biggs Darklighter.

"Hello Luke," the message began as Luke fumbled to race out of the refresher. "I've taken some shore leave and I've come home for a while. I've been looking forward to seeing you." The figure chuckled as he said, "it's been a long time old friend. I've got something important to tell you and I know you're the only one I can trust. You've been that way for a long time. Reliable and trustworthy." Biggs had paused for a moment longer and sighed. "Which is why I am hoping you'll be able to make your way to Anchorhead for later this afternoon. At about 1430 standard. Anyway, I'll tell you more when I see you, take care Luke." With that, the image shuddered away as Luke was left standing there, a hand wrapped over a towel that covered his lower body.

_Biggs is here!_ He thought. _Great, maybe he also knows that I am going to join the—, _he paused. _Academy,_ he thought glumly. He had forgotten that the old man had forbade him not to go gallivanting across the stars.

_Owen doesn't run me_, he thought defiantly. _I'll go see Biggs and then it will be like old times—us against the Galaxy_. He returned to the refresher to get dressed and to get to Toshe Station in time—he had woken up without much time to spare. But he could handle it, after all, he'd find out as much as he could about the Academy and he'd become one of the greatest pilots—even greater than the vaunted and much feared Darth Vader and the 181st.

* * *

Luke ran to his speeder, the trusty and reliable SoroSuub X-34 landspeeder, and without a moment's hesitation gunned the triple thrusters on the long, rustic coloured vehicle as he strapped himself in. The repulsors had naturally kept it from the ground, as the speeder took off, dust trailing behind.

"Luke!" Owen called out. "Luke! Where is that boy going?" He turned to see Beru chuckling as she answered for Luke.

"He's gone out with his friends. I think Biggs has come back from the Academy."

"Blast," the old man muttered.

"He's getting older, Owen. He has too much of his father in him to stay in one place for too long," she reasoned.

"That's what I am afraid of," he said sadly as he remembered the first time he met a troubled Anakin Skywalker. He remembered the first time he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi carrying little Luke who was fast asleep in his arms. He remembered how the Empire had wiped out the Jedi and that Anakin had died as a result. He didn't want Luke becoming a target for the Empire—he didn't want to see the closest thing to his own son become a twisted and perverted freak of nature at the hands of the Empire. And that included watching Luke join the Academy.

He would hold on to Luke for as long as he could, but he knew that it was soon coming to an end. The boy was restless and Owen could only do so much. Maybe it would have been better if Obi-wan looked after the boy. _No_, he thought. _Luke would have been like the damned Jedi, thrusting himself into the most dangerous situations. It is better he stayed with us_, he decided. _He would have gone off on some damned adventure never to return. _

He remembered one instance when Obi-wan had come to Luke, only to leave as Owen chased him out with a blaster. He didn't want the Jedi Master—regardless of what he was back then—interfering with the boy's life.

He then realized that his eyes had been staring off into memories of old and he looked up to see a smiling Beru.

"You should tell him how you feel, Owen," she answered, almost as if she had read his mind.

He smiled and kissed her affectionately on her cheek. She had always been the voice of reason for him. Even when he had become rigid so he could protect Luke. He walked off, claiming that he needed to take a look at the moisture vaporators, as he found himself thinking, _she knows me better than I know myself_.

* * *

He reached the bustling port city in time as he was greeted by several of his friends. He was dressed in his black boots covered over by his brown breeches and black shirt, covered by his worn green-yellow ribbed jacket. He jumped out of his speeder and saw a familiar and much welcomed sight: a tall, lean figure with a silver cape draped over one shoulder.

"Luke!" He exclaimed as he rushed over and gave his friend a warm hug.

"Biggs, how are you?" Luke replied, as his smile was broad and genuine. It had indeed been far too long since they had last seen each other.

"I'm all right, the Academy has been great. I've met quite a bit of people, actually," Biggs started, looking over Luke's shoulder and cocked his head towards a cantina—eager to find an empty booth.

"Really? I can't wait to join you at the Academy," Luke replied, as sudden memories came rushing back to him. Owen didn't want Luke going this season, despite his high scores in the testing. He gritted his teeth and felt his fingers curl into a fist and tense. His eyes met his old time friend and his anger quickly subsided. "I—uh—well, it seems that I can't go this season."

Biggs nodded understandably. He remembered how Owen had been furious and adamant that Luke not attend the Academy. In fact, there had been an occasion when Biggs had been there to witness an argument. "Luke, do what you can to get off this rock. I know you will face up to your responsibility and you'll come through. You're good like that," he said reassuringly.

Luke smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He knew that Biggs would wait for him—after all, they had been through it all. The Sand people, fighting off a few disgruntled—and drunk—spacers, and whatever else came their way. It was as it always should be: Luke and Biggs against the Galaxy.

After a moment, both men found their way inside the hazy, smoke covered cantina, as the local Bith jizz band played tunes that seemed off-key yet somehow enjoyable and melodic.

Thoughts of dancing Twi'lek women and other tantalizing patrons filled the farm boy's mind. Luke smiled and looked at his companion as they sat down and said, "you're buying."

"I'm a local hero, you know," Biggs replied teasingly. "You should be the one who is buying."

"Well, you know how tough life is for us farmers," he quipped, chuckling at his friend. He nodded to one of the waitresses and ordered two tumblers of Cestian Nectar. After a few more moments of reminiscing, both men received their drinks and that was when Luke finally decided to get to what Biggs had stated earlier in his message. "So," he began, "what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Biggs sighed and took a sip from his tumbler, leaving the fragrant liquid to sit in his mouth until he swallowed it. He looked at the tumbler and looked at Luke. "Well," he began, "I'm not quite sure how to say this, so I'll come out and just spill it." He looked around to make sure no one was listening and then he leaned in closer to the table and lowered his voice. "Luke, I'm thinking about leaving the Academy and joining the Alliance."

"What? Why?" This had certainly surprised young Skywalker. They had been dreaming of joining the Imperial Navy for countless years now—only to hear this. But he had no doubt that Biggs had some damned good reasons.

"Well," he began, "I told you how I met some people."

Luke nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"And, they showed me some things. They told me a lot about the Rebellion and I've seen firsthand at what the Empire does."

"Such as?" He asked poignantly.

"Well, you know how they had those news reports on the Holonet about how the Alliance was responsible for that bombing in the Imperial Square on Coruscant?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I stumbled onto some information and found out that--," he looked around and in an even lower tone he said, "it was really the Empire. They had an agent plant an explosive that killed all those people—including that Senator's wife and kids."

Luke was astonished. "Senator Bel Iblis? Wow, but I mean—that's—that's got to be a lie. Come on, why would the Empire do that to their own citizens?"

"Luke, it was all for propaganda. Don't you get it? The Empire won't hesitate to eliminate you if they think it will be beneficial for them in the end."

"I get it, believe me I do," Luke started, "but what about when the Rebellion assaulted that station on Corellia?"

"Well, I suppose so."

"_A lot_ of innocent civilians lost their lives," Luke replied flatly. He took a sip of his nectar and set the tumbler down before he spoke again. "Either way, there is a war going on. We picked our side, Biggs. Look, the Empire has to do what is necessary and sometimes that means bombing their own soldiers—but that was expected to happen. I mean, how often is it that you'll hear about the Rebellion bombing their own troops to eliminate a garrison? Never. And why? Propaganda. It's friendly fire, Biggs, and those friends of yours are trying to sway your belief."

"Maybe," Biggs said weakly.

"Look, I'll tell you what," Luke said, knowing his friend had come this way to tell him something important, only to be deflated. "Hang in there, I'll be joining you soon."

"Luke, you're not going get off this rock—at least not now."

"Actually, I'm working it out with uncle Owen. I'll be joining the Academy soon."

"Like 3 or 4 more seasons, Luke?" Now it was his turn to deflate his friend just a bit. "Face it, Owen won't let you go."

Luke nodded and took another sip before he smiled wryly. "Just you leave that to me."

"Right," Biggs replied sarcastically.

"Look, just humour me ok? Hang in there—the Empire is bound to do harsh things, but not before calculating the risks. The same thing goes with the Alliance. I'm with you until the end, Biggs. Just like old times. I'll be joining the Academy soon and we'll find a way to end this war and gain some fame too."

Biggs sighed and looked at his friend. He knew Luke wasn't trying to placate him. He knew Luke better than that. Luke was sincere and often had to be the voice of reason for him—just as he was for Luke on other occasions. "All right," he replied. "But I'm telling you, that you're going to see things that you're not going to like."

"Hey, I think you and I have gone through some pretty tough situations. They'll be no different."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." The warm friendly smile that was Biggs had returned. "Yeah. It will be just like old times."

They both lifted their tumblers and at the same time, they said, "just like old times." They downed what remained in their cups.

After Biggs ordered the next round, Luke could only smile. "Glory to the Empire," he said before they drank again.


	3. The Guardian of Peace and Justice

_The Guardian of Peace and Justice _

The figure walked through the bright and sweltering heat, passing through rocky hills and mesas. He was not affected from the heat; the mild breeze—if it could be called such—kept him comfortable. His destination: the Lars' moisture farm.

His hut was quite the distance from the homestead, yet walking hadn't bothered him in the slightest. It never did—it allowed him to contemplate his failure and the one true hope to the Galaxy in these times. He found the life of a hermit to be a mixed blessing—he lived alone and was not disturbed; yet he was aware of the dangers that lurked throughout the land and had no one to rely on, save for himself. He found he had only one purpose—and that purpose was coming ever so closely to its destiny.

His rich brown cloak covered him; his hood was draped over his head, covering most of his face. The only thing one could make out was the snow-white beard on his slightly weathered face. Obi-wan Kenobi had been watching young Luke for a long time now.

He had been the unseen guardian of the child since the beginning—protecting him from harm when he didn't know it. Sending ripples of the Force towards the boy to calm him when he was upset, as much as it also helped to awaken the Force within him. Obi-wan knew that Luke had been a special boy from the beginning—just like his father before him.

He sighed. It had indeed been a failure on his part to watch another Skywalker fall to a fate that should never have been his in the first place. It was tragic and most of all, it was something with which he had to live with for the rest of his life.

He had unleashed a plague on the Galaxy that was the full embodiment of the Force. Obi-wan had been responsible for the deaths of countless _billions_.

He sighed wearily. He had to live with that for 20 years. He had heard all too well about the Emperor's right-hand man Darth Vader. But now was not the time for self-pity—there might not be a time for that for much longer. It was time for Luke to follow the way of the Jedi, and Owen no longer held stewardship of young Skywalker.

He continued to reminisce about the way things had been before the Emperor—before the Dark Times. He had been one of the very few and fortunate—if one could call it that—to survive the Jedi Purge.

As he continued to walk through the dale, he felt several tremors in the Force—tremors he had dealt with on more than one occasion. _Sand People_, he thought to himself. He had spent a long time on Tatooine—long enough to understand the method and machinations of the Sand People.

His hand went to a familiar and cylindrically shaped object that rested comfortably on his hip. It was the lightsaber of the Jedi Knight: a civilized weapon for a more civilized time. It was much more elegant than a blaster—which was random and crude.

He knew there would be no alternative as soon as they had fired the first shot from an ancient blaster rifle. His hand swept the lightsaber into his hand, feeling the familiar grip as the blade thrummed to life, emitting a cyan glow. He deflected the blast high across the dale—if it was one thing about the old Master, age and time away from the Order had not dulled the senses or the skills—and sent three more flying towards the small gathering of Sand People that stood before him, dropping two of them.

_I have to stop them before they gather_, he thought as he deflected to more blaster bolts and in a blur, brought his lightsaber down on the Gaffi stick of one hapless nomad.

The nomad fell as his staff was sliced in two and found himself sailing across the ground and into his other comrades who struggled to get out of the way.

Now Obi-wan had them. He gathered the Force into himself as he let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream that echoed across the valley, resonating against the rocky walls and inspiring fear into every living thing that resided in that area.

The Sand People began to turn back and run, ignoring pleas from stragglers as they ran from the merciless creature they had undoubtedly awoken.

Obi-wan shook his head as the lightsaber flickered out of existence. _What would Qui-Gon have said about this?_ He wondered. He shook his head and holstered the hilt as he continued his trek towards the Lars' homestead, eager to bring Luke to the teachings of the Jedi.

* * *

When he finally reached the Lars' homestead, he found that Beru greeted him warmly. Where Owen was—well, that didn't mattered. He threw off his hood and smiled at the gentle woman. His white, thinning hair was ruffled from the wind and the altercation with the Sand People.

"Obi-wan," she said as she hugged him and smiled warmly. "It's been a long time."

"Yes," he replied warmly. "It has been far too long. How is Owen? I trust he and Luke have been well?"

Whatever smile she had was soon lost as it turned to something akin to worry. This obviously startled the Jedi Master.

"What's wrong?" He didn't need the Force to tell him that something was obviously mistaken.

"It's about Luke and Owen," she started. "Perhaps you should come inside, you need to hear this, but I think it would be best for us to sit down."

He merely nodded. Obviously something did not bode well—and he was beginning to fear that perhaps his own feelings overwhelmed his reasoning.

As they sat down inside the dining area, Beru went into detail over the last few years on how Luke had slowly become restless. He applied to the Academy every year and always scored the highest on the testing. And before he would leave, Owen found some way to keep Luke back.

Obi-wan noted all of this with keen interest as a familiar cold feeling came from the pit of his stomach. Luke was more like his father than the Master had previously thought. After a few more moments of listening to Beru tell him the rift that was coming between Owen and Luke, Obi-wan finally spoke up. "Owen has every right to hold him back, but I sense his overprotective streak will cost Luke more than he thinks. I'm afraid that it is time for Luke to fulfill his destiny, Beru."

This caused the woman to recoil visibly, but she nodded grimly. "Owen won't like this, but I understand, Obi-wan. I just can't bear the thought of something happening to him though."

"I understand Beru, but more danger will be caused to Luke if he stays here."

"I know, but what if he sees _Vader_?"

"Then let us hope that the Force will guide Luke to do the right thing."

At that moment, the heavy footsteps of Owen Lars made its way into the doorway, announcing his presence. "Can I help you?" He asked Obi-wan bitterly, eyeing the Master with disdain or fear, but obviously with mistrust.

"Is Luke here, Owen?"

"No," he replied coldly. "No, he is not. I thought I told you to stay away from him." He looked over to Beru, who averted her gaze, and then brought his attention back to the older man. "And from this place," he added, almost as if it were an afterthought.

"Owen," Obi-wan started, "Luke's time has come. He's growing restless, let me take him and train him in the ways of the Force."

"Ways of the Force?" He snorted. "So what? So Luke can join you on some damnable quest and get himself killed? Like _Anakin_?"

If Obi-wan was hurt by those words, he made no motion to display it.

"No, I won't have him join you. He can live a comfortable life here. We've given him everything he's ever wanted and I won't watch you sentence my nephew to death."

"Owen, you must understand, the boy's growing restless and is beginning to resent you. Can't you see that it is time that we helped him fulfill his destiny?"

"Destiny? You are going to send him to his _death_!" The farmer looked at the Jedi Master with disgust. "All you do is take. You've done nothing but hound him from the beginning, filling his mind with your poisonous thoughts about the Jedi. Can't you leave him alone? You've twisted his mind enough, and we don't need _your_ help. We're fine on our own."

"If you continue to keep Luke here, he will already be dead."

"You didn't take care of him for his life. You're not the closest thing to his parents! You were responsible for both of their deaths!" Owen shot back.

"Owen!" Beru scolded.

He looked at his wife. "No, Beru, I won't hold back. Luke needs us and I am right. He is just going through a phase."

"I can see that this is not going anywhere. Owen, in time you will have no choice but to lose your grip on Luke. He's a man, and he will find his destiny—with or without our help. The best we can do is to guide him along." The Master rose, obviously a signal that his time had come to an end and he would leave.

"Luke will be fine here, on his own. Goodbye Obi-wan, I never want to see you on our premises again."

The Jedi Master paused and looked at Owen. He respected the man and knew that he was terrified of the idea of Luke getting hurt. But he also knew that Owen would one day have to let Luke walk on his own. As he resumed making his way to the exit, he heard Owen mutter something.

"Damned, know-it-all Jedi," the farmer said.

Obi-wan continued to make his way back to his hut, biding his time, and he found himself armed with new information. _Luke is more like Anakin now_, he thought. _Perhaps there is some way I could help Luke learn more about his father—from a certain point of view._ _Perhaps I can offer something that I was never able to offer Anakin completely: my trust, loyalty and unremitting love._ He smiled, as he made his way through more valleys. In time, he would train Luke to the ways of the Force. And hopefully, Luke's persistence was a strength he would be able to use against the Emperor and Vader.

As much as he also regretted the idea of using Luke to save the Galaxy, there was one important reason that set him above anyone else: Luke is the one last hope in the Galaxy. Nothing—_no one_ could rival the power that was Darth Vader and Darth Sidious, except for Luke. Not even the Emperor knew that Luke would grow to be the most powerful Jedi in the Galaxy.


	4. New Beginnings

_New Beginnings _

It was early morning when he woke up. He knew this was the day when things would come out on top for him. Luke grinned as he was lying down; his hair was mussed to one side of his head. His muscles felt sore from the night before, but that didn't matter. Luke was ready to meet his destiny.

_Imperial Academy, here I come!_ He thought as he rose from his cot and went about his daily routine. Today, they'd even buy droids—droids that Luke could somehow use to his advantage.

* * *

Owen couldn't sleep off his encounter with the Jedi yesterday. He found himself wondering if he was truly holding his nephew back. _Is it Luke's destiny to become a Jedi like his father?_ _Have I only been making matters worse for the boy?_

He sighed. He rose, leaving the food that sat in front of him on the table in the kitchen. He would have a long chat with Luke tonight about seeing "old Ben Kenobi." Maybe it was time to let the boy make his own decisions. As much as the old man desperately wanted to wish otherwise, he knew that Luke was no longer a little boy.

He turned to Beru and stated, "I'm going out to see if those Jawas brought any droids. Make sure Luke is up. I want him to come with me."

She nodded as she rose from the table as well, eager to find Luke. She knew that Owen had been having a hard time with letting Luke make a decision about his life.

As she made her way towards his room, she called out for Luke just as he bumped into her.

"Oh, sorry aunt Beru," he replied sheepishly. Today, it appeared he wore a grey sleeveless jumpsuit—very similar to a uniform in some manner. "You needed me?"

"Yes, your uncle would like for you to go outside and join him to purchase some droids." She smiled softly to him. She had come to know him like a son, and she loved him very dearly. She knew he would amount to something great in his lifetime.

"All right, I'll join him then," he replied, kissing her on the cheek as he ran off to meet his uncle.

_This is it,_ he thought. _I buy these droids, and then tonight I'll be long gone before they know it._ It pained him somewhat to leave them high and dry, but he knew they would understand sooner or later. He would write them letters, and let them know how he was doing. Perhaps he would return there in the future, when he retired from the Navy, and perhaps the Lars' moisture farm would become a Galactic monument.

He made his way outside and saw a large, reddish sandcrawler. It was obvious that the Jawas were setting up shop today. He began to race when he heard Beru calling out for him again.

"Luke, make sure that your uncle buys a droid that speaks Bocce!"

"Well, it looks like we don't have much of a choice. But we'll try," he replied as he raced to meet his uncle, who already began sizing up the droids: a golden-coloured bipedal one and a stout red headed utility droid—most likely an R5 unit—in particular.

When he finally made his way there, he overheard his uncle asking the protocol droid, C-3P something or the other, whether it knew the binary language of moisture vaporators.

"Why of course. It's like a second language to me," it replied proudly.

"All right, we'll take it," Owen said to one of the Jawas—probably the Alpha Male (or Female) of the group—and he pointed to the R5. "We'll take that one too. Luke, take them in and see that they get right to work."

The Jawas began to chatter amongst themselves as the protocol droid and the R5 began to leave.

Between the R5 unit and a bipedal refuse bin apparent droid, a dome-shaped blue coloured R2 unit shook and beeped and twittered, as it obviously wanted something. This caught Luke's attention, but he shrugged it off as he watched the Jawas race to it and use a control on its restraining bolt, forcing the poor droid into a stand-by mode.

"Well," he began, "let's go. You too, Red," he called out to the R5.

It beeped as a reply as it began to leave—only to have its motivator explode and fry more than half of its systems. The droid didn't get far.

_Great,_ he thought, _we buy these droids only to have one fall apart already._ "Uncle Owen," Luke said, "this one has a bad motivator. Look!" He showed the experienced farmer.

"Hey what are you trying to pull on us?" Owen demanded of the elder Jawa.

"Master," the golden droid acknowledged Luke, "I believe that R2 unit is fully functional and quite ready to serve."

"Are you sure?" He asked carefully. He didn't want his plans to go to ruin at the hands of another possibly faulty droid.

"Oh I am quite sure. I've worked along side that one. We're quite inseparable, you know."

"All right," the young man answered. "Uncle, what about that one over there?" He asked, pointing to the R2.

"Hey, how about that blue one?" Owen asked the Alpha Jawa.

It muttered something in its language that Owen understood as an answer to his question.

"All right, we'll take it then." He waved Luke off, as the two droids accompanied their new Master.

Behind Luke, the golden droid muttered to his diminutive companion. "See all the trouble I go to for you? You'd be in a trash compactor if it weren't for me."

Luke could only smile. Things seemed to be looking up, so far.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Luke had brought the droids into the garage, eager to remove the restraining bolts and clear up any damage in their systems—or so he had said to his uncle. He listened to the golden droid—C-3PO, as it turned out—blather on about their adventures, roaming from one end of the Galaxy to the next.

He nodded, ignoring most of what the droid was saying while he had secretly packed his belongings into his speeder. He knew he'd sell it first thing when he arrived at Anchorhead later that evening. It would be the last goodbye to his old life and a hello to his new one. He would be Luke Skywalker: Grand Moff in the Imperial Navy.

He knew that Biggs would wait for him. They both had booked passage off that rock and knew that the Galaxy would soon hear of the exploits of Biggs Darklighter and Luke Skywalker—the inseparable duo.

After a few more moments, still not listening to the droid speak, Luke was finally convinced he had all that he would really need. After all, he would never return to Tatooine—at least for a while. He turned around and caught the last few words that came out of Threepio's mouth.

"…what with the Rebellion and the Empire."

"You know about the Rebellion and the Empire!" Luke exclaimed.

"Why yes," Threepio stated, "that is how we came to be in your service, actually."

_Who knew that this was a small Galaxy after all?_ Luke thought to himself. Well, at least this way he would afford the droids with a better life while he went off to face the Galaxy. "Well, I better go and eat something. You two should shut down for some time."

"All right, Master--,"

"Luke. Just call me Luke," he replied, with a smile.

"I see. Master Luke," Threepio said.

"No, just Luke. You know what? Don't worry about it." He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he went to rummage through the kitchen. Maybe he could grab something and then head out.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw Owen eating something and appeared somewhat tired and haggard. _That's odd_, Luke thought. _I've never seen him like this. Does he know?_ He grabbed a piece of fruit and bit into it, tasting the sweetness that filled his nostrils and his tongue. The harvest would be good this year.

"Luke," Owen began.

_Uh oh,_ he thought. _Here it comes._

"I think we need to talk."

"Well, I have to go to into Anchorhead and get those droids' memories wiped," he lied, hoping the old man wouldn't catch on.

"Hmm. Well I guess we can talk later," he smiled. _Great, you scared him off, old man_, he thought bitterly as he watched Luke run off to run his errand. _Well, at least he seems better today. I just hope he didn't notice that I didn't sleep last night._ He picked up a forkful of food from his plate and stuffed it in his mouth. _Ah, that's a good kid_, he thought to himself. _He won't turn out like Anakin. I know he won't._

* * *

He put a lot of distance between himself and the homestead. He couldn't help but feel more than a twinge of regret. But he knew that it was for the best. He just couldn't live as a farmer.

He made it to Anchorhead later that evening, as he found a pair of Jawas, who had taken more than a keen notice in his speeder. After he haggled a price with them, he earned 3000 credits. Still a lot less than he would have originally made, had the XP-38 series not come out and reduce the X-34s by more than half their retail value. But it didn't matter anymore. He had more than enough to keep himself satisfied over a handful of drinks—and he had enough to get him off this rock for good.

"Luke!" Biggs called out as he rushed to meet his friend. "So this is it, huh?" It was more of a statement than a question. He carried one of Luke's bags, while Luke carried the other one.

"I told you that I'd make it," he replied reassuringly.

"You're right. But when Owen finds out, there will be hell to pay."

"Well, don't you worry about it. He's got more than enough help this season. And it seems that they'll be find without me." His voice was bittersweet. He was leaving the only place he had known as his home.

Recognizing this, Biggs smiled at Luke and patted him on the back. "Come on, let's go. Next stop: the Imperial Academy."

"Us against the Galaxy," Luke replied as he made his way into the starport—walking aboard the ramp of a transport. Against all odds, Luke Skywalker was ready to face his destiny as the best pilot in the Galaxy.


	5. Providence

_Providence _

They sat in the briefing room, a black circular table that was symbolic of the power of the station they nested in. In the center of the table, sat a mounted holoprojector used for communications. The table could also act as a battlefield analyzer during combat. The Death Star would certainly see enough of it.

Several regional governors-turned-Moffs, but in the northern pole of the table sat the head of them all: Grand Moff Tarkin. The tall and lanky man with sharp facial features that resembled some form of a predator, sat there, watching the other Moffs squabble over the growing power of the Rebel Alliance. Two, in particular, are discussing the threat the Rebels pose over the Death Star.

"The Rebel Alliance is too well-equipped. If they were to mount an offensive against this station, we'd be vulnerable," one said. His hair was short and covered most of his forehead.

"Maybe to _your_ starfleet, but not _mine_!" countered the other—a slimy, backstabbing Moff.

Tarkin continued to watch the exchange, amused between the two. After a few more moments of them arguing, he finally intervened. "The Rebellion will be dealt with swiftly," he said, commanding their immediate obedience. "The Emperor has informed me that he has dissolved the Senate. The remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away."

"But who will have control?" The worried Moff asked.

"The regional governors shall now be in direct control of their territory. And fear shall keep them in control. Fear of this battlestation and fear of the Empire."

"But what of the Rebel Alliance? They are just _too_ well equipped. What if they get their hands on the plans of the Death Star?"

Tarkin suppressed a sigh. As much as this worrisome tart had been trying his patience, the Moff nevertheless raised a good point. Before he could reply, another voice—one more daunting and echoed of dark power, spoke.

"Leave that to me," Vader spoke as he entered the room.

"This battlestation is the most powerful symbol in the Galaxy. Nothing will stop us," the slimy Moff said, his thin lips forming a sneer.

"Don't be too proud of this technological terror that has been constructed. The ability to blow up a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force," Vader quipped.

"Oh don't scare us with your sorcerer's ways Lord Vader. Your devotion to that ancient religion is nothing more than--," he began to gasp as he found he had no air in his lungs. An invisible vise-like grip had constricted his windpipe. He began to choke as he hands desperately reached for his throat, eager to remove this invisible grip.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," Vader teased as he watched in delight at the immediate panic and suffering the Moff was going through. He enjoyed it quite a bit. His forefinger and thumb were conspicuously close. Close enough to prove that Vader did bring up a point about the Force.

After a few more moments, confident that the man had learned a lesson, Tarkin raised his voice and commanded, "that's enough."

Vader relinquished his grip and moved to stand next to the Grand Moff: an equal.

After a few more moments of watching the other Moffs shuffling out at the exits, he turned to Vader and asked, "has the Princess been cooperating?"

"She has been…_resilient_. But soon I shall have the truth from her and the whereabouts of the Rebellion."

"Perhaps I can be of some _assistance_," he answered, smiling maliciously as a plan unfolded in his mind. "There are many forms of persuasion, Lord Vader; many forms."

* * *

Two white, faceless, yet fearsome stormtroopers shoved her into the observation deck.

She saw two figures: the black armoured Darth Vader and the tall, lanky Grand Moff Tarkin. "Grand Moff Tarkin," she stated flatly, "I thought I recognized your scent when I came on board. I suspected that you'd have Lord Vader on a leash."

He smiled, playing along with her. "Ah Princess, you have been looking as exuberant as always. I hope that we can have an exchange of information and move along."

"What information? When the Senate hears that you've been holding me for no reason--,"

"The Senate, no longer runs things, Princess. So I ask you now, where is the location of the secret Rebel base?"

She stood tall and defiant, not answering him.

Tarkin had expected as much. He keyed something on a console and spoke into it. "Target Alderaan," he commanded.

"What!" She screamed in fear. "No! Alderaan is a peaceful planet, we have nothing to fight about. We're pacifists--," she was interrupted by Tarkin turning around and glaring at her.

"Would you prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system."

She said nothing. Torn between choosing either her home planet of billions or the fate of _countless _billions.

He moved towards her, his anger growing, forcing her to back away and to bump into none other than Darth Vader. "I grow tired of asking you this. Name the system."

She looked at the peaceful blue and green orb. She sighed and lowered her head. "Dantooine. The base is on Dantooine."

"You see Lord Vader? I told you she'd be persuaded to see otherwise." He smiled smugly and turned around to press a key on the same console. "You may fire when ready," he stated flatly.

"What!" She screamed in hysteria.

"You're far too trusting," Tarkin replied as he took some measure of pride at commanding the power of this fearsome battlestation.

He heard the systems powering on as the station shuddered gently, preparing to emit a large emerald beam that didn't appear. The weapon didn't fire. "What?" He managed as he uncrossed his arms and his face took on an expression of disbelief and utter shock.

"It would appear that the station still needs work," Vader replied, undoubtedly grinning under his mask.

"Take her away!" Tarkin commanded to the stormtroopers who quickly followed orders. "How could this happen? Insolence!" Tarkin screamed out profanities as Vader stood there, watching the Grand Moff vent his anger, eager to find out what had happened to the weapon systems.

"I shall inform you of the engineers' reports when they come in," Vader replied as he turned away to leave. _So, it would appear it was either subterfuge or the weapons systems needs to be reworked. We shall return to the location_, he thought to himself as he traversed down the corridors that flashed red with klaxons indicating battle alert.

He felt the shudder of the Death Star as the vessel undoubtedly made its way into hyperspace.

It had indeed been a day for the Force to prevail. Vader could only smile and no one else would seem to take notice.


	6. A Lost Hope

_A Lost Hope_

"Luke! Luke!" Owen had called for the boy repeatedly. _Where could he have gone?_ The old man thought to himself as he called out for Luke. As he walked into the garage, he found nothing but the two droids that Luke had said he was taking to get memory wipes—_Luke had said he was taking them to get memory wipes!_

_What in the blazes are they doing here then?_ He wondered. He looked around and walked over to the droids when the blue one—R2-D2—began to shake and twitter and beep. "What's the matter with you?" He asked the bucket of bolts.

"Excuse me, Master Owen," the golden one began—obviously it had awoken--, "but R2 is complaining that he is the property of an 'Obi-wan Kenobi.' I'm dreadfully sorry; he has been like this for some time. Is this name familiar to you?"

"Damned Jedi," Owen began to mutter under his breath as it suddenly became clear to him. _Obi-wan must have taken the boy when Luke hadn't expected it! Damnable Jedi tricks. _He looked at the droids and motioned for them to come as he left the room, grabbing his old blaster rifle.

Beru had bumped into him to see that Owen was obviously upset. "What's wrong?" She asked him carefully, as she noticed her husband slinging an old, but serviceable blaster rifle across his shoulders.

"It's that damned Kenobi, Beru!" He yelled, not realizing how loud he was until he noticed Beru visibly wincing. "I-I'm sorry, Beru," he said softly. "It's just that Luke is missing and the droids are here—which is not supposed to happen," he explained. "The boy told me he was taking them to Anchor—oh _no_," he said as the truth began to set in. Biggs was back from the Academy and Luke had been forced to stay on _Tatooine_. _No_, he thought to himself. _He couldn't have run off with Biggs, he wouldn't leave us just like this. Not without telling us._

And then he remembered how jittery Luke had been earlier during the day.

"Owen?" Beru called to him, as he realized that his eyes had lost focus and shifted elsewhere.

"Let's go to Luke's room. He's got to be there," Owen said, hoping that he was right.

As they entered the dark, surprisingly clean room, they noticed a red flashing signal on the round holoprojector that sat in the center of Luke's bedroom.

Owen walked up to it and pressed the flashing key, triggering a blue-hued image of a young man dressed in a grey jumpsuit. It was none other than Luke.

"_Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, I know by now you must be wondering where I am. I am sorry, but I don't have a lot of time. I've gone to the Academy, without your permission. I couldn't stay here any longer. I just don't have it in me to become a moisture farmer like you, Uncle Owen. I had to leave the planet—to find my destiny and to truly find what I am looking for. Staying here,_" Luke gestured, "_would do me no good. I hope you understand, and I hope that in time, I can come back and we can talk. But for now, please, let me find my own destiny. I will love you always._" The image faded as Owen and Beru stood there, dumbfounded and heart-broken. Luke had run off to the Empire.

"Owen! What are we going to do? Luke's gone to the Empire!" She sobbed on her husband's shoulder as he found himself staring at the holoprojector.

"We better take these droids and go to Kenobi. He'll know what to do," Owen said with much resignation. _Luke couldn't have been that impulsive. What will happen if the Emperor gets his hands on the boy? He's just a kid. No, he's my _nephew_ and a Skywalker._

They left with much haste as they sped away from their home in the black angular SoroSuub V-35 speeder. The fate of the Galaxy seemed to weigh heavily on their shoulders.

* * *

He had walked out of his hut, eager to leave behind the sorrows of time past and to stretch his feet. Obi-wan was still dressed in his comfortable Jedi robes and much to his surprise, a black angular speeder stopped in front of him, seating none other than the Lars couple.

_I wonder what they might want_, he thought to himself as he noticed two droids that bore an odd resemblance to two others from time past. _Droids? One reminds me of C-3PO and R2-D— blast._

"Obi-wan," Owen started as he leapt off his speeder. "We need to talk."

"So it would appear," he nodded twice as his eyes never left the pair of droids. "Come," he said, "it would be better if we spoke inside."

As the group made their way into the modest hut, made up of no more than necessary furnishings one would need in a shelter, Obi-wan urged his companions to sit down. "So," he said after a moment of silence, "what can I do for you?"

Owen looked at the older Jedi Master. "I'll come straight to the point: Luke's joined the Empire."

This caused the Jedi to shift uncomfortably. "Joined the Empire? How could that have happened?"

Now it was Owen's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I, uh, he told me that he went to go have the droids' memories wiped. That was the last I saw of him."

"Then Luke is in clear danger and I must leave quickly," Obi-wan said as his eyes shifted towards the droids. _Why are these two here?_

Anticipating the question, Owen pointed to the droids and said, "these are our new acquisitions. This little one claims to be yours."

"Mine? I don't recall ever owning a droid."

R2 shook and whistled, protesting the Jedi's remark.

"Master Kenobi," the golden droid started, forcing everyone to gaze at the droid, "my companion says that there is an urgent message for you."

"Very well," Obi-wan said reluctantly.

Suddenly R2 began to switch to several tones and beeps before a holoprojector displayed a blue-hued portrait of a woman in white, with dark hair and who had a tone of desperation in her voice. Her soft features seemed to remind the Jedi and the couple of another political figure who had stood for something so long ago.

"_General Kenobi,_" the image started, "_my name is Princess Leia Organa of the planet Alderaan. Years ago, you served my father during the Clone Wars. I ask of you that you help us now. Our time has grown short and you must deliver a message within this R2 to my father. Please help me Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope_." The image faded shortly thereafter.

After a few more moments, Obi-wan nodded. Something had truly gone wrong and now it seemed he more than a great weight on his shoulders. And Luke was not around. He turned to the couple and said softly, "I think it is time things were sorted out. I must leave for Alderaan immediately and hopefully, I will be able to find Luke."

"How will you find him?" Beru asked the old Master desperately between sobs.

"I will find a way." He steeled himself for the possibility of confronting the Emperor—or worse: Vader. He knew the Force would have inexorably push himself into battle with the Dark Lords of the Sith. The Jedi Master only hoped he had the strength and spirit within him to hold his own against the pair. 20 years had done a lot to allow guilt to wither away at the defenses of the old man.

Beru and Owen began to leave the hut, somberly boarding their speeder as Obi-wan walked with them.

"Obi-wan," Owen began, his voice wavering as he couldn't help but think of terrible things happening to Luke, "I-I owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing, Owen," the Jedi Master calmly assured the farmer. "And let us hope that you will have nothing to apologize for. Only the Force can tell us whether or not Luke will go unnoticed by the Emperor for now."

* * *

Shortly after the Lars' couple had left—minus the droids—he walked towards a rectangular chest in his room. Opening it, he found a cylindrical object that seemed very much like his own—however this lightsaber was more generic in its shape and its emitter was covered at an angle.

He lifted the pommel up and rested his thumb on the activation plate and heard the familiar _snap-hiss_ of the blade as it flared to life—thrumming a sky-blue glow. Removing his thumb from the plate, the lightsaber flickered away, as the hilt found itself clipped to the other side of his belt.

Obi-wan then continued to peruse through his chest as he found a flattened disc-shaped object that he picked up into his hand. He tapped a button and after a few moments, he saw a pint-sized shape of a human male, who appeared much older than the Jedi Master.

"Senator Organa," Obi-wan began, "I have some troubling news."

"Obi-wan? So you've heard?"

"Heard?"

Bail Organa's voice seemed to border on hysteria as he said a handful of words that came crashing down on Obi-wan. "Leia's been arrested and charged with treason by the _Empire_!"

Obi-wan's worst fears were realized: the Empire had the last hope of the Galaxy in its very grasp.


	7. Out of the Shadows and into the Light

_Out of the Shadows and into the Light _

He pulled back on the yoke as his quarry came within his sights. His target tried to evade him, making sure that he would not lock onto the quarry.

The quarry was in the shape of an angular snub fighter, with four wings, two on either side: it was the Rebel Alliance X-Wing.

_Nice try hotshot_, he thought. _But you won't get away from Luke Skywalker that easily._ He flipped a switch; shunting all of his power to his engines, as he made sure his weapon levels were at a moderate recharge rate.

The X-Wing tried valiantly to evade and barrel roll away from Luke's TIE fighter, but to no avail.

Luke continued to come in faster, knowing the pilot had pushed his own fighter to its limits.

The X-Wing was much more advanced than the rest of the fighters in the Rebel Alliance, but where it was a moderate fighter—used for all sorts of missions—, the TIE fighter was only built for one thing: speed and imminent death.

The pilot continued to shift port and starboard, trying to hang on for a few more moments as help undoubtedly arrived.

Luke fingered the trigger, gently caressing it as he paced himself against his foe, reducing speed and easing the yoke so as to make the pilot think that Luke was losing.

The pilot took the bait—Luke could only smile as his targeting reticule went green and squeezed the trigger turning the fighter before him into debris and three wings.

"Luke! We've got two slugs and three mainstreams coming in at point three!" A voice warned over the comm.

"Just like old times, Biggs. Like shooting wampas down in Beggar's Canyon."

"Like old times," Biggs agreed as he came racing portside Luke, his fighter screaming with its powerful Twin Ion Engines.

Luke noticed on his sensors that the pilots were switching to engage him: two mainstreams—X-Wings—and one of the slugs—Y-Wings. He checked his system gauges and was satisfied that his fighter was in prime condition. He sighed internally, under his black helmet and flightsuit. _Sometimes I wish these fighters had shields_. It was no secret the Empire chose to be liberal with the lives of its own soldiers—yet they were the best trained in the Galaxy.

"You take the other two, I've got these three," Luke spoke onto the channel to Biggs.

"Copy that, Alpha Leader," Biggs replied as he broke off and poured quick emerald fire into his first victim—the unfortunate Y-Wing.

Luke didn't follow up to see what happened as he quickly realized he was coming under fire from one of the X-Wings that had broken off to engage his six.

_Blast_, he thought. He banked his fighter starboard as he flew between the other X-Wing and Y-Wing, forcing his pursuer to break away.

He pulled his fighter around and quickly poured energy into the Y-Wing, tearing away its shields and port nacelle as the fighter careened away, exploding in a small fireball as Luke pushed the TIE through the wreckage.

Suddenly he was forced to pull his yoke forward, arcing the TIE on a ventral course as he evaded a piece of the nacelle—from the unfortunate Y-Wing—from crashing into his cockpit.

He watched as crimson energy lit up and sliced through the nacelle as he brought his fighter around to fly between his last two victims. _What was it Ben once said?_ He thought as he managed to tail one of the trailing X-Wings. _Trust my feelings? Open myself up and follow them?_

He heard indistinct chatter on the open channel as he heard Biggs cheer as he eliminated one of his opponents—the Y-Wing. _No time for that now,_ Luke thought as he poured unrelenting emerald energy into the X-Wing, forcing his quarry to close the fighter's S-Foils.

Luke had scored several shots into its stabilizers and port engines. His prey was defenseless. _I have you now_, he smiled as he watched his target tear apart like a piece of flimsiplast.

He arced himself in a dorsal vector as he watched crimson bolts fly just under his cockpit. _This one's clever_, Luke thought one more as he admired the Rebel's ability to use the death of his comrade as a means of catching Luke off guard.

It was too bad for the Rebel that he was fighting a Skywalker.

Luke shifted back his throttle as he took the liberty of watching the X-Wing scream past him. _Bang and you're dead_, Luke thought to himself as he fired several bursts of energy into the fighter and drinking in the sight of it bursting like an overripe fruit.

"End of Simulation," a computerized voice spoke as Luke's screen went black and his "canopy" opened to reveal the interior of the flight simulation training room.

He rose and watched several of his classmates cheering him on as he and Biggs rose from their seats and left the simulators.

"Good job, Trainee Skywalker," a rough, but commanding voice spoke out.

Luke turned around and stood at attention as he replied, "thank you, sir."

"You too Trainee Darklighter." The older man looked more intently at Luke and almost in awe he said, "that was fine flying if I ever saw it."

Luke couldn't help but crack a smile at the praise he gained from his commanding officer. It had been weeks—nearly three months since he had joined the Academy. He cast it aside as he asked, "if I may so bold, sir, who did I have the privilege of fighting against?"

The older man, with silver hair pulled back pointed to another simulator. From it came a man with hair that was darker than Luke's sandy hair, yet was not dark enough to pass for black. "This is Lieutenant Third Class Derek Klivian."

"Hi," the young man said as he looked at his compatriots—Luke with something akin to admiration. "You can call me 'Hobbie.' You're a great pilot Skywalker," he said, as he was panting slightly.

"You too, Hobbie," Luke said.

"Well gentlemen," their instructor spoke, "if there is nothing else, I would like to conclude that today was a marvelous display of dedicated action. If there were more men like you, Skywalker, we would have defeated the Rebel Alliance already. But since there are not, we can only hope that more pilots will follow your example of fine piloting skills. You would even catch the eye of Lord Vader, no doubt," the old man said, booming with some measure of pride.

The three pilots nodded as the rest of the trainees stood in line.

"Well, I believe that the time has come—you are to report to the conference room at once. You've passed the final exam, congratulations gentlemen." With that he left the room as Hobbie ordered the general dismissal.

* * *

Hours after the ceremony, where in the pristine chambers over a thousand new trainees were sworn in as new Imperial Flight Officers—protectors of the Empire and threat to those who opposed them—Luke, Hobbie and Biggs had found time to meet at the local cantina. They had left the Academy on leave and the benefit about the Imperial Academy was that in the Core, there was plenty of adventure for everyone, including a former farm boy.

"So, Lieutenant Third Class Skywalker," Hobbie began, his speech somewhat slurred after hopping through three previous cantinas—this one being lucky number four—, "how does it feel to be a protector of the Empire?"

"Wait—wait a minute there, Harpy," Biggs slurred as he cackled at his own joke, "I have a few words to say—to say about this-this fine looking man here." He rested one hand on Luke's shoulder, impressed that his friend had been handling his alcohol really well. "This man is-is a fine young man. Yes you are, Look. He stood farm for me when I thought—I thought I was losing my face—no, no that's not right. Faith—yeah, that's it. To you, Look, a true friend," Biggs barely managed to make out as he lifted his third tumbler of Corellian Whiskey.

"To you two: the best wingmen a pilot could wish for," Luke managed as he couldn't help but laugh at his debauched friends.

As they downed the last of their amber liquids, Luke ordered another round for the three. _We're going to wake up with a headache the size of a Bantha, come tomorrow,_ he couldn't help but think. They sat in a booth, in black Imperial uniforms that they wore to their commencement. As the waitress—a very attractive human female—served them their drinks, a disgruntled patron called out for her.

"Hey Merma, get us some deathstick shots! And come over here so we can have a…chat with those lovely weights you're carryin'!" He called out as his friends laughed around him. They were obviously surly and had already annoyed Luke for the night.

_They just keep getting worse everywhere you go,_ Luke thought to himself as he noticed Biggs and Hobbie sobering up instantly with the tone of the patrons.

"Seems like they've certainly had one too many drinks," Biggs said as he took care and effort into speaking. "Can we have some cups of Jawa Juice?" He asked the waitress who was still serving them.

"For you, Flyboy, certainly," she cooed, causing Luke and Hobbie to look at each other and smile.

"Hey Merma, I'm talkin' to you!" The voice called out again. This time, it was much closer.

"Looks like we're in for a bit of trouble," Luke stated matter-of-factly, as four tall, burly and rotund human men came up to their booth.

Their clothes were dirty and it looked like they had not even bathed in years. It was obvious these were not the ordinary run-of-the-mill workers. They were most likely factory or foundry workers that had as much value as a labour droid.

"You know, I am working right now," the waitress—Merma—addressed the men.

"I can see that, so where's my damned drink?"

Luke sighed internally. He sized up the four and looked at his comrades. They could handle them. It appeared a conflict would soon be inevitable. He rose and looked at the leader of the four—who appeared to have taken a notice in Luke and his companions.

"What do you want, flyboy?" He snorted derisively.

"Look, I think it is best if you guys just go back to your seats and wait for your drinks. Right now, your lady-friend is working and she happens to be serving us. Just give her a minute and she'll help you out, won't you?" He smiled softly at the waitress.

She smiled back and nodded—albeit somewhat nervously.

Luke had the impression that she had been through this situation a lot. He immediately recognized her expression telling him that he just signed the proverbial death certificates of him and his friends.

But Luke Skywalker was certainly no pushover. He hadn't come this far to be taken down a peg.

"Why don't you just sit down and shut up, flyboy," the man said, shoving his finger into Luke's chest.

"Sir, do not do that. I am an Imperial Officer and I am asking you to sit down and wait."

The cantina had gone deathly silent as everyone else looked on to what was transpiring before his or her very eyes.

"Well, you don't rule me, _Imperial Officer_," the man replied as his friends laughed. "You should know that I don't take kind to anyone trying to order me around," his voice becoming grim and threatening.

Luke stood his ground, his blue eyes were a raging storm within it. _What would old Ben say at a time like this?_ He thought. He was growing angry and impatient, yet somehow he managed to belie that as he spoke through gritted teeth, taking care to emphasize every word. "You will sit down and wait for your drink, _sir_."

Almost instantly, the man complied as his eyes seemed to go dull—if only for a moment. "I will go and sit down and wait for my drink," he replied. He started to turn and leave—causing a widespread sigh of relief from the entire cantina—until one of his friends stopped him.

"What are you doing, man? He's trying to scare you. We don't need his kind of authority here," his large and darkened companion said.

"You're right," the instigator spoke, his voice becoming furious as he spun around and swung out with his right fist.

_Oh Sith_, Luke thought as he quickly ducked and brought his own fist to slam into the man's throat, causing the man to fall back and choke, gasping for air.

In a blur, the man's companions were reaching out to attack Luke as Hobbie and Biggs rose, taking on the other two as Luke faced the one who had coerced the instigator back into the fight.

"You're dead little man," he teased as he swiped for Luke's face—only to feel hot pain in his arm.

Luke ducked and grabbed the man's arm, twisting it and rolling around the man's back and twisting the arm up and into a full 360-degree rotation as there came a satisfying pop from the man's shoulder. Luke shoved his right foot into the man's left knee, dropping him onto his knees as the young pilot rewarded the thug with a right-hook to the man's ear.

Hobbie had crouched as the man ran at him, forcing himself to take the man's weight on his back as he had the satisfaction of lifting the man and throwing him across his shoulders and into an empty booth. The table cracked in two as the man was sent flying into it, rendering him unconscious.

Biggs managed to block a right-hook and then a left-hook as he was pushed back and lost his footing as he fell from a piece of broken table. He blacked out for a second and narrowly dodged a rapidly descending foot stomp. _I'm a pilot for Force's sake!_ He thought to himself as he rolled to the left and then to the right as his opponent continued to try and merge Biggs with the ground.

He heard his executioner grunt in pain as he was struck with something blunt. "Thanks Hobbie," he said as a hand extended down to pick him up.

"Not a problem, Darklighter," Hobbie replied as Biggs rose.

They both turned around to see their mutual enemy come rushing back towards them. They both looked at each other and moved out of the way as the man was sent stumbling into his unconscious friend, shortly before he felt the blunt impact of a chair across his head from both Biggs and Hobbie.

Luke looked up to see that his first victim had recovered and was stumbling towards him. Luke smiled internally. _Fool_, he thought. _I warned you not to mess with a Skywalker_.

As the man lumbered towards the pilot, he failed to anticipate the foot that rushed out to crash into his face, breaking his nose and causing Luke to smile with satisfaction. He screamed as he fell back, only to find a burst of hot pain across his face as Luke's foot smacked across the man's face. As quickly as the kick occurred, the man knew no more as darkness enveloped him.

And just like that, the fight was over. Luke looked at his companions, who were breathing heavily, and he looked at their booth. Their drinks had been knocked over during the brawl.

He groaned. "Come on guys, let's go home," he said as he tossed a credit chip towards the bartender. "Sorry for the trouble," Luke said as the three pilots walked out of the cantina, carrying each other to their mutual home. Tomorrow—as the pilots who graduated at the top of their class—they would ship out to a classified station as their new post; a station known only as the 'Death Star.'


	8. The Ties that Bind Us

_The Ties that Bind Us _

He paid no mind to the attentions of the officers as he walked towards his quarters. He was a fearsome presence, causing many officers to often move to other corridors just to be as far away from him as humanly possible. Darth Vader had always found it amusing. Lately, he had been growing complacent, forcing himself to meditate as he felt ripples and shifting within the Force. He didn't know what it was, but it was obvious a new presence had emerged. He continued to walk through the corridors of the Death Star, eager to find his way into his meditation chamber within his quarters.

The Force continued to play havoc with him. Undoubtedly the Emperor had felt this not-so-subtle disturbance as well. Whoever had awoken in the Force would soon be facing the wrath of Lord Vader. But what had continued to curiously prod at Vader was that the presence seemed vaguely familiar—almost as if he _should_ know it. And whoever this familiar presence was, he or she was certainly strong in the Force—perhaps as strong as even _he_ was. But that was impossible; Vader was the only strongest Force-User in the Galaxy. This new presence would have to have come from his family line—and that was completely impossible.

The only other possibility was the Emperor—he did entertain concubines, after all.

Vader left that line of thought as he found himself in his chambers. He suppressed a smile as he realized that he would soon meditate and be released from this shell—and be able to pinpoint the oh-so familiar presence. It continued to bite at him. It was as if it was someone from his very past, but he knew soon he would find the presence of the person. What also seemed odd was that the figure had no seeming knowledge of the Force—or even allegiance to the Light and Dark Sides of the Force.

A plan began to formulate in his mind, one that made him relish the thought of being the first one to find the presence. _Perhaps I have gained a new ally—and a temporary one at that_, he thought to himself as he began to picture statues of himself towering over those of the Emperor on planets such as, Coruscant. _And perhaps that person could become my Apprentice,_ he thought. _If only for a while._

_

* * *

She screamed out in pain, her face showed the tears that streamed down her round face. Her soft and kind features seemed saddened. She screamed out in pain once more, yelping and she finally said something. "Anakin, help me, please!" An infant could be heard crying somewhere. Her face seemed weak and tired, her eyes were closed as she continued to cry, whispering, "Anakin, help me."_

No!_ He screamed in his mind. _What does this mean? She is dead! I can't bring her back!

"_Save your strength, Padmé," a warm voice spoke, urging her to stay strong. The voice's face revealed an image: light brown hair with a beard, soft blue eyes and cream-coloured robes. It was a figure that he had never expected to see again: it was Obi-Wan Kenobi when he was much younger. _

My old Master…_ He said flatly. _What are you trying to tell me? Obi-Wan and Padmé are gone!

_The sound of a child crying overpowered everything else._

The child died with her! They are gone and nothing I do can ever bring them back!

_The child continued to cry; its screams were becoming distant. Suddenly, he could heard echoes of a familiar voice: a bewildered and grieving Obi-Wan._

"_You were the Chosen One! You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!"_

* * *

He awoke moments after. It took him a few moments to gather his surroundings—realizing he was in his black shell. _What was the Force telling me? Has Padmé survived? _His heart leapt at the thought. But he also knew that he had continued to have those visions even after those dark events, some 20 years ago. _Perhaps the Emperor has been—lying?_ It hadn't been the first time he had witness the Emperor lie; it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But Vader could never believe his oldest friend would lie and betray him. _It has happened before_, he rationalized. He remembered his old experience with Obi-Wan. That Jedi had tricked him and forced him into the most humiliating position ever conceived. Vader didn't like where his thoughts began to tread. There was the possibility he could have been lied to his entire life—and the two people who had cared most about him might have been the very ones he damned to death.

He rose and left the room—he needed to take his mind off things. He would make sure the new recruits in his Imperial Death Squadron would understand that failure meant death—no exceptions. But for now, he would go and find some of the commanders that were incompetent and he kept around for occasions such as these. Nothing else invigorated the Dark Lord of the Sith than putting a few officers in line and motivating others from the example set by their superiors.

* * *

Obi-Wan felt perturbed. He had felt the dark corners of his mind produce memories—or _visions_ of the past. He had only arrived at Anchorhead and already he felt the dark tremors in the Force. _I better tread carefully_, he thought. _This is for Luke, I can ill afford to waste as much time as I already have._

He remembered his trek to the Lars' homestead—only to find it in smoking ruins. He rushed to see if they lived, but found two smoldering corpses. His heart had found its way in his throat, as he thought of their innocence in this dangerous game that had begun because of a man who wanted complete dominance of the Galaxy. He had to get Luke, prove to him about the evils of the Empire before it was too late. He owed that much to the boy's family. Shortly after he buried their remains, the old Jedi raced to find the boy; he took what he needed, including the droids.

He shook himself out of thought as he began to walk through the array of buildings on either side of him, with both droids. He had to keep his mind on the present—to the events that would unfold before his very eyes.

"Hey you there," an audio-like voice commanded.

He stopped and felt his heart leap and tense for a moment. A variety of things could go wrong right now. He felt the presence of three Stormtroopers, the Lackeys of the Emperor and inept ones at that. He wouldn't need his lightsaber—there always were alternatives of getting past one's enemies.

"How long have you had these droids?" One of the white-armoured men asked.

"I've had them for about 2 or 3 years," he said with confidence.

"Let me see your identification."

"You don't need to see my identification," the old hermit replied, subtly moving his right hand across from his chest.

"We don't need to see your identification," the Stormtrooper agreed, causing his companions to stare at him for a moment before nodding their heads.

"These are not the droids you are looking for," Obi-Wan added.

To his companions, the Stormtrooper said, "these aren't the droids we're looking for."

"I can go about my business."

"You can go about your business."

"Now, let me move along," the old man quipped.

"Move along," the Stormtrooper agreed. "Move along."

He walked three steps and released an internal sigh, thanking the Force for a weak-minded Stormtrooper. The time of the Jedi was over, but certainly even the Emperor had failed to realize that there might be a Jedi or two that had slipped past his vast power.

He entered one of the Mos Eisley cantinas, walking through the lit entrance and into the dim, dank and musty scent of cigara smoke floating throughout the entire cantina. He walked down the few steps before the bartender noticed his presence.

The bartender looked at Obi-Wan only to declare, "we don't take their kind here! Take your droids elsewhere."

Obi-Wan paused and looked at the droids. "Perhaps it is better if you two wait outside."

"I agree Master Kenobi," C-3PO replied. The protocol droid turned to R2. "Come along R2."

The astromech only whistled in reply as both droids walked out of the cantina.

_Now,_ Obi-Wan thought, _time to begin the arduous task of finding a capable pilot. But first, a drink._ He walked over to where a large furry wookiee stood. He sat down beside the furry biped and nodded to him in acknowledgement. He then looked at the bartender and nodded for something to drink—most likely Juma Juice. He turned to the wookiee and noticed something _familiar_ about it. He had only seen a few, but he knew he had seen this one at some point. He just didn't remember.

After a moment, he decided to ask the wookiee a question—it would stand to reason the wookiee would be a spacer. "Come here often?" He asked, smiling.

"Perhaps," the wookiee growled. "Are you looking for something?"

"Actually yes," the old Jedi began, "I am looking for a ship—and a capable pilot."

"There aren't many in this part of the Galaxy who understands Shyriiwook." This caused the wookiee to smile—that is, if baring its teeth constituted a smile. "I am Chewbacca, first mate of the _Millennium Falcon_. I know a capable pilot who might just fit whatever you are looking for."

"Excellent," Obi-Wan answered, a small smile formed on his lips. "Is there a place where we could talk in private?"

"Of course," Chewbacca replied. "Come with me towards that booth. We'll discuss our terms."

"Very well," the old man bowed, "lead the way."

After a moment of weaving through tables and heading towards an even seedier part of the cantina, the two figures finally sat down in a booth, with a young looking man with dark hair and a roguish countenance.

"I'm Han Solo," he announced. "Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_. Chewie here says that you need passage to the Alderaan system?"

"That is correct. If it is a fast ship."

"Fast ship?" This caused the young man to chuckle. "You've never heard of the _Millennium Falcon_?"

"Should I?"

"It made the Kessel Run in less that 12 parsecs. It's fast enough for you, old man."

Obi-Wan smiled politely. He seemed to like the man immediately. His free natured spirit seemed to remind the old man of others in his past. "Then let us talk business."

"What's the cargo?"

"2 droids, myself—and no questions asked."

"What are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Let us just say that I'd like to avoid some Imperial entanglements."

"No problem, she can outrun anything—and I don't mean those large bulky Corellian cruisers." After a moment of taking pride in his vessel, Solo's expression turned to one of complete business and seriousness. "All right, 10 000."

"All right, 10 now and 7 when we arrive to Alderaan."

"17? You've got yourself a ship. Meet us in Docking Bay 94," the slightly bewildered smuggler said.

"94," Obi-Wan replied as he got up to leave.

After he was confident that the old man had gone far away, Han looked at his furry companion and with an eagerness exclaimed, "17 000! Can you believe it? He must be more desperate than I thought! Prep the _Falcon_ Chewie, I'll meet you there in a minute."

Chewbacca growled in agreement as he got up and left.

As Solo began to rise and leave, he found himself facing the barrel of a blaster rifle—or worse, a disruptor rifle.

"Leaving somewhere, Solo?" A green skinned, bug-like Rodian asked him.

"As a matter of fact I was just on my way to see your boss. Tell Jabba that I've got the money I owe him," he replied, his voice thick with disdain for bounty hunters.

"Why don't you give me the money and we'll just forget about this whole thing," the Rodian replied, making himself comfortable while his blaster was leveled for the smuggler's chest.

"I don't have the money _with_ me," Solo replied, leaning back casually, one hand playing with the décor on the wall that supported his back. "Tell Jabba—,"

"Jabba has no use for pilots who dump their cargo at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser."

"Hey, even _I_ get boarded sometimes," the smuggler replied, his expression growing angry.

"It's too late. Jabba would rather have your ship," Greedo said, cutting him off.

"Over my dead body," Solo spoke back, protective of his prized vessel. His other hand, hidden from sight, reached towards his trusty DL-44 blaster.

"That's the plan," he quipped, his snout forming what could be construed as a smile. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time, Solo," the bounty hunter said, taking pleasure in killing the famous Han Solo.

"I'm sure you have," Han quipped, as he formed a lopsided grin.

Before the Rodian knew it, a whining sound erupted and smacked him across the chest, turning him into a burnt, crumpled form.

Han rose and pulled out a coin and tossed it at the bartender as he left. "Sorry for the mess. I always was a rotten host."


	9. Into the Fold

_Into the Fold _

"It's so big," Luke exclaimed in wonder, his voice very light as he watched the large tan coloured sphere that hung in orbit.

"Yep," one of the other pilots seated across from him said, "I never get tired of being in awe of that marvel. _That_ is a testament to the might of the Empire, my friend."

"You know, if you weren't a flight officer, you'd make a great recruiter," Biggs replied, sitting between Luke and Hobbie, who happened to be sleeping comfortably.

The other officer merely laughed.

The co-pilot of the shuttle turned to face the main hold of the vessel and said, "we're docking in 5. Grab your gear and stand by."

This caused all of the new members of the _Imperial Death Squadron_—Darth Vader's personal fleet—to make sure they were secured in their crash webbing.

The vessel shook a bit as it began its final vector into the large station's massive docking bay. The shuttle landed, as klaxons blared, informing the deck officers to stand by for the shuttle.

As soon as the co-pilot gave a thumbs up signal that ensure that they had landed safely, Luke and the others grabbed their gear and removed their crash webbing and left the vessel, standing side by side on the pristine deck. It never even bothered Luke that all of the officers in the entire Imperial Military were male humans. Very few—an almost infinitesimal amount—were other species.

A higher-ranking officer—clad in the same black uniform as every other flight officer—walked across the hangar, surveying this new group of top-notch pilots, fresh from the academy. His face held a regal stature of someone who had spent his entire life in the Imperial Navy. The man—no more than 50 years—began to speak, his accent revealing his origins as somewhere in the Core.

Luke paid no mind to the pep talk, as he found himself oddly at peace and yet perturbed. He had tried to open himself up to the greater whole, as Ben had once urged him, but he knew that this strange feeling had been there at one point in his life—one point when he was very young. He just couldn't seem to figure out what it was. At one point, the feeling was comfortable, only to have it twist itself into a possessive something that unsettled the young man. _It's probably just myself getting used to this new adjustment_, he thought. It hadn't been the first time this had happened—but Luke had never been able to figure out what this feeling meant.

Luke was concentrating really hard because it took Biggs to wake him from his reverie as the top pilot realized that the officer had left.

"Are you all right, Luke?" Biggs asked his friend carefully. After his first time in joining the Academy, Biggs had grown homesick as well.

"Yeah," Luke replied dismissively, "I am just trying to get used to this marvel." His voice held awe at the battlestation, but it also held something else.

"Luke, is there something you want to tell me?"

"No, I'm all right. Really, I am," Luke replied, as he knew that his best friend wondered about him. "Come on," he said after a moment, his grin returning to his face, "Hobbie is probably wondering where we are—and I'm sure he has taken the best bunk in the barracks."

"You're probably right. All right," Biggs nodded, "let's get going. I just hope that Hobbie has saved us some good bunks too." Both men grabbed their bags and joined the procession of new pilots to Lord Vader's elite fleet.

* * *

His face was contorted with a mixture of fear and surprise as he collapsed to the ground, his hand reaching his throat, the other reaching out to the dark form that towered over him. 

"Apology accepted," Vader said as he took pleasure in watching the bewildered officer die, the man's eyes bulged and closed one final time.

"Lord Vader," one of the officers said, "Grand Moff Tarkin would like to see you."

"Very well," the Dark Lord replied.

"Also, we have received our new replacements."

"Excellent, I look forward to seeing them in action," Vader said as he walked away. It appeared that Tarkin had finally calmed down—he had been angry for quite some time after the Death Star had failed its weapons test. He also didn't terminate Princess Organa, something that made Vader curious as to what the Moff had in mind for her.

He began to walk towards the tactical room, knowing full well that Tarkin would greet him there. Tarkin was almost always there; _almost as if it had become his new home_, Vader mused.

He still felt the not-so-subtle shifting within the Force—something had come within his grasp and he still couldn't pinpoint this raw, untapped power. Killing that commander seemed to give only mild comfort to Vader, as his mind continued to feel the intoxicating presence of this untouched variable. _If it has made it this far, then perhaps there is still an opportunity for me to use this presence against the Emperor, lest he finds out_.

The Dark Lord of the Sith made a mental note to eliminate other variables from slighting his chance of gaining a new ally. The Emperor's spies and personal officers would have to be eliminated. Accidents were known to happen—after all, this _was_ the Death Star. Perhaps the station would continue to suffer as a result of Rebellion subterfuge; it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. Vader could only smile.

As he entered the tactical room, he noticed Tarkin was looking out at the view. Vader could feel the man's rage. Vader fought the urge to laugh at the man's weakness. Some creatures would allow their weaknesses to get the better of them, Vader had moved long past that. Vader had learned how to control his own weakness and convert it into a calculated and unparalleled strength.

Before he could say anything, Tarkin spoke.

"Our reports came back from Dantooine--she _lied _to me!"

"I told you that one was not to be trusted."

"Execute her immediately!"

Vader resisted the urge to shake his head and laugh at the arrogant Moff. "Very well."

"We'll be arriving at Alderaan shortly—the Death Star will not fail its weapons test _this_ time, Lord Vader."

_Interesting_, Vader couldn't help but think.

"She will die along with her planet. The Galaxy shall bow to the might of the Empire—and the Rebellion will come to a swift end," he replied, regaining his composure.

"And what of the missing data?"

"The Rebels will undoubtedly come for us—give it time Lord Vader."

* * *

They had left the desert planet without any Imperial entanglements on the surface, now all they had to do was escape the system in one piece. Tatooine was under a quarantine and two Imperial Star Destroyers were closing in fast. Much faster than what Solo had said about his much prized vessel. 

"You better go strap in, we're in for a bumpy ride!" Solo yelled into the main hold as he and Chewbacca tapped several keys, eager to evade the lancing emerald energy that came their way while they plotted the jump to lightspeed.

"Oh, I hate space flight," the golden droid muttered as he and Obi-Wan strapped themselves into their chairs.

R2 rested comfortably—or as comfortably as an astromech could be, under the circumstances—and whistled a reply to his bipedal counterpart.

Obi-Wan found himself sincerely hoping that delivering the droids to Bail would be quick—so he could begin his journey of finding Luke. He didn't want to watch the boy succumb to a path that another pupil of his had taken.

And just as Han thought they were done for, as the ship lurched to and fro, he shoved a level and watched the stars streak into one seamless stretch of light. The _Millennium Falcon_ had outrun the Imperial Destroyers—and had escaped the quarantine.


	10. Survival of the Fittest

_Survival of the Fittest _

Vader continued to scope through the crew manifest, inside the confines of his private quarters. He searched through the new shipment of officers and paused at the three names that came at the top of the list—the three figures that scored the highest in the Academy. _Klivian, Derek; Darklighter, Biggs; Sky—_

_No…it can't be…_

Vader looked around as the last name continued to eat at him. _Skywalker, Luke_. _Luke_, he thought. _Luke Skywalker, how fitting_, he mused. _Could it be? Has Skywalker returned through the will of the Force? How could he have survived?_ Then it occurred to him.

The vision he had had earlier had warned him of this. _Obi-Wan Kenobi must have hid him. But then, what about Padmé?_

His mind was racing—and his world was reeling.

What else had those once closest to him kept hidden?

Vader shook the thoughts of his mind and looked about. No one had said anything about this Luke to the Emperor. Were he to find out about Skywalker, Vader's situation would become most dire—and he would risk losing his status as Dark Lord of the Sith, which also meant his life.

"Skywalker," he said softly—making no difference to the dark voice that came from his suit—"I shall keep you safe, for now. Let us see if you are as strong as I sense you are."

He rose and left, eager to see _how _strong the child was in the ways of the Force.

* * *

Luke donned his black flightsuit, knowing full well that he had to be in full gear on board this station. Lord Vader would not be pleased if one of his officers in the Imperial Death Squadron failed him in the slightest. 

He entered the training simulation room, noticing that a pod had already been filled. He spotted an empty pod—between two simulation pods occupied with officers Darklighter and Klivian. He couldn't help but smile under the mask. His friends saved a spot for him.

He walked over and entered the pod and tapped a few keys. Suddenly a voice came over the open channel.

"_You are the best the Academy has to offer. Let us hope the Academy has been doing well. This exercise is a special one—at the behest of a high-ranking officer. Do not fail us, gentlemen. Your objective is to eliminate a rogue pilot, who has stolen a TIE fighter. There are three of you, one of him. The simulation will commence immediately._" After a moment, the voice added, "_good luck, you will need it_."

_Oh Sith_, Luke thought to himself. _Now just relax, Skywalker—remember what old Ben told you: relax, breathe and trust your instincts._ One hand went to his stomach. He still felt unwell, as a familiar feeling overcame him. He shook it off, however, as his pod began to light up and the simulation began.

He tapped a few keys and noticed his flight group's designation: Vader's Teeth. He smiled; _let's make Lord Vader proud_. He opened a channel to his wingmen. "All right guys, it's us three versus one. Whoever this guy is, we need to exercise caution—I don't trust what is in store for us. Form up on me and whatever you guys do, _do not_ break formation until I give the go, is that clear?"

"_10-4, Lead,_" said Hobbie.

"_Roger that, Lead_," Biggs replied.

"Let's go get him." Luke smiled as he gunned the engines and locked on to the target in front of him. He flipped several switches, boosting the output of the engines of his fighter, as they began to gain ground on the lone TIE.

"_Luke!_" Biggs came over the channel, "_watch out! He's matching your speed._"

"Copy that," he replied as he noticed that this pilot was gunning for him. "Break off and attack."

He earned the reply with the sound of two TIE fighters screaming and overtaking him. In a blur, he watched as Hobbie was taken out of commission and the fighter, designated as Hunter, formed up behind Biggs.

"_I can't shake him! Lead, I need help!_"

"On my way," Luke replied. _Blast, who is this guy?_ He opened himself to his instincts, looping his fighter over and accelerating the fighter towards the chase, as Biggs was barely avoiding the green energy that happened to be lancing all around him.

Biggs rolled his fighter to port as he throttled back, hoping to let Hunter overshoot him. To his dismay, he realized that the pilot had paced him and that Luke had to hurry.

"I'm coming Biggs," Luke said, as he pulled himself into a trajectory towards Biggs. "Stand by to bank hard to port!"

"_Roger!_"

Luke continued to close the distance as he counted off the klicks off his head.

_Almost there._

_Almost there_.

Luke brought his fingers close to the hairline trigger and felt Hunter was waiting—almost as if the name suited who he was. He angled the TIE closer towards Biggs, trying to lock on as Hunter continued to try and lock on to Biggs.

"_I could sure use your help, Luke!_"

"Now!" Luke screamed as he squeezed the trigger, watching as emerald energy lanced towards Biggs.

Biggs pulled his fighter to port as he rolled the fighter, allowing the bolts to fly through the narrow gap between the cockpit and his solar panel. He let out a gasp as he watched Luke fly through where he had once been.

"Loop! Biggs, loop!" Luke called as he realized his bolts somehow missed.

Hunter was right on top of Biggs and had locked on.

"_I can't shake him!_"

And just like that, Biggs erupted in a ball of fire as Hunter passed through it.

Luke felt his rage at the hotshot pilot who eliminated his best friend from the simulation. _All right, hotshot, it's just you and me._

He closed off everything around him as he cleared his mind—feeling a disturbance prodding his left arm.

Luke banked his fighter around and rolled to starboard, as a torrent of energy flew past where he had been but moments earlier.

He sighed. _I guess Ben's right about something after all_, he thought as he pulled his fighter around, spotting Hunter visually.

"You're mine now," Luke said to no one in particular.

Hunter brought his fighter about, realizing that Luke was behind him.

"Oh no you don't," Luke said as he accelerated his fighter and pursued Hunter towards an asteroid field. _Great, this simulation thinks of everything_. Luke cleared his mind, not realizing his hands were making minor adjustments to his course as he followed Hunter through the asteroid field.

Hunter flew between two large asteroids that collided with one another, forcing Luke to fly around it and through another asteroid that threatened to crush him.

Luke continued through whatever course Hunter set up for him with relative ease, as only Hunter's demise seemed to sate Luke's growing rage. He found himself pushing his anger and impatience into his piloting, forcing him to make faster adjustments.

Luke was catching up to Hunter, who continued to evade the asteroids almost as if they were nothing to him.

The growing tempest within Luke's stomach subsided as Luke continued to channel his rage into his piloting, decelerating as he raced around an asteroid that seemed the size of a large continent.

He had lost sight of Hunter, as the ace pilot flew through the trench of the continental asteroid.

Somewhere, Hunter lay waiting.

Luke was eager to bait the pilot as he cut all power to his weapon systems and the sensor jammer. He would need all the power for his engines, as Luke would use the shots for when the time was right.

Luke pulled around towards an asteroid and cut all power, using only the thrusters to match the fighter-sized asteroid's orbit.

Hunter had now become the hunted.

Luke felt himself loving the thrill of the fight—somewhere an equally skilled pilot was waiting to line Luke up in his sights.

He continued to look for any traces of fighter emissions—only to be rewarded with a fast moving meteorite. _Hunter_, Luke thought as he waited.

Hunter continued to evade the asteroids and seemed to be on a direct course for Luke.

_Has he spotted me?_ He thought as he slowly brought a gloved hand to hover on his power gauge.

Hunter continued to tread towards Luke, as he passed through asteroids.

_He's spotted me,_ Luke determined as he tapped the key and punched the engines to meet the ace pilot dead on.

Luke continued undaunted, as Hunter sent a salvo of green energy lancing at Luke, who casually rolled through the fire.

_Wait for it._

_Wait for it._

_Now!_

Luke slammed the brakes of his fighter, guiding it down into the asteroid Hunter aimed at, as Luke fired three shots, clipping Hunter's port solar panel.

Luke could only grin.

He got him.

The grin was wiped off his face, when Hunter suddenly banked towards Luke, sending a hail of green energy his way.

_Oh Sith_.

Luke returned fire, as the computer indicated both pilots' energy slammed into their cockpits.

The simulation was over.

Luke and Hunter had come to a draw.

* * *

**Author's Notes: All right, now I will take this time to tell you all that "yes, the big moment is coming up soon enough." I am sorry for the long delays and I am glad that you have all been patient with me up to this point. Currently, I have to work on my final exams, so this will be on a hiatus for at least two more weeks. Rest assured that I will continue to update as fast as I can. I apologize for any inconvenience, if any. Thank you all for reading this, thus far, and I hope you look forward to reading more of what I have. **

**Sincerely,**

**Dante-Raven**


	11. Final Approach

_Final Approach _

Old Ben Kenobi sat in the main hold, thinking of the gruesome horrors Luke must have faced already at the hands of the Emperor.

_Oh Luke, am I too late? Can you forgive this old man for not being there when you needed me most?_ He sighed. _I will come for you—I promise. I will never allow anything to happen to you. _

_I won't lose you like I lost him._

_The good in you is pure—uncorrupted. I can only hope that I am not too late._

"Well, you don't have to worry about those Imperials chasing us, anymore," Han Solo said, as he entered the main hold, waking Obi-Wan from his thoughts.

Obi-Wan only looked at him and rose, revealing his lightsaber and spotting the training remote on board the vessel.

"Don't everybody thank me all at once," the smuggler said sarcastically.

Moments later, Chewbacca entered the hold.

Activating his sapphire shaft of energy, Obi-Wan blocked the weak bolts the remote sent his way.

"A lightsaber, huh?" Solo said after a few moments of watching the old man impressively block the bolts. For an old man, he sure could block all those blaster bolts.

"Yes, a civilized weapon from a civilized time. It's elegant and precise, not crude and random like blasters."

Solo could only smile. "Not to me, old man; hokey religions are no match for a trusty blaster at your side."

After another moment, he looked at the Jedi and had to say what had been on his mind. "You seem to know how to use that thing. What are you, a Jedi or something?"

"What if I said yes?"

"Then those Imperials chasing us would make sense."

"And if I said no?"

"Then I guess it doesn't matter to me—the money would more than make up for lost causes."

Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt as he paused and looked at the young man before him. "Money will only stay in your hand long enough for it to disappear. In the end, you'll be left with nothing."

"At the end, as long as I've got my life to hang on to and my ship—then that's fine by me," he grinned.

Chewbacca let out a growl as he waved his hands up and down.

"Oh, and Chewie too," he added.

Before the older man could mouth a reply, a klaxon roared throughout the hallways.

"Looks like we're here," the man said, moving towards the cockpit with Chewbacca and Obi-Wan trailing along. As he sat in his seat, he tapped several keys and looked back at the old man, forming a lop-sided grin that was undoubtedly his signature smile. "Seems everything is in the clear, old man."

Obi-Wan nodded silently, his eyes shifting over towards an unusual moon that appeared near the planet. It seemed to be a moon that should never have been there.

Suddenly, another signal began to beep repeatedly, as Chewbacca let out a short growl and tapped the key.

"Wait," Han began, "there's something coming out right behind us."

In small blinding flash covered the cockpit, as another one followed quickly, before the whine and screams of an Imperial TIE fighter shot past the freighter.

"What's a short-range fighter doing here?" Obi-Wan mumbled.

"Well, whatever he's doing, he's not going to be around long enough to report us to somebody," the smuggler replied, tapping several keys as he turned to Chewbacca. "Jam his frequency."

The wookiee complied, and shifted a small lever.

The fighter continued to loom ever closer towards the moon as the freighter struggled to keep up, eager to keep its location hidden.

Within the cockpit, a dark silence loomed about as they continued tracking the fighter.

After a moment, a sullen thought occurred to the wizened Jedi Master. "That fighter is in deep space to be out here alone."

The smuggler gritted his teeth, hiding the agreement he had with the Jedi. "Well it seems to be heading for that small moon," he replied, "Chewie, see if we can head him off."

The wookiee replied and continued tapping several controls.

As the freighter began to veer closer towards the moon, hoping to intercept the fighter, the orbiting sphere began to reveal a perfectly non-cratered surface, as a giant smoothed depression revealed itself, with a small focal point in its center.

The horror and realization of the moon began to dawn on the older Master. _What have I just led them into?_ "That is no moon—it's a battlestation," he warned, hoping the pilot would agree.

Han gaped in horrifying awe as he confirmed the Jedi Master's statement. "I think you're right. Chewie, lock in the auxiliary, I'm going to pull us around." As the pilot began to shift the yoke, the freighter began to gyrate and lurch helplessly against the powerful gravitational forces that pulled the vessel in.

"Why can't we leave?" The old man asked, knowing full well why.

"They've got us locked in a tractor beam," Solo replied, desperate to tap every control and think of every possible way to remove the _Falcon_ from the Empire's grasp. He looked at the computer's readouts, angry that the vessel wasn't responding. "Chewie, lock in the auxiliary!"

The wookiee grumbled and continued pulling the lever.

Obi-Wan put his hand on the pilot's shoulders. "Leave it, they're going to pull us in."

"Well I'm not leaving without a fight," Han muttered defiantly.

Obi-Wan knew that if it came down to that, they wouldn't leave the battered freighter alive and all would have been in vain. He whispered, albeit with more than eager persuasion, "there _are_ alternatives to fighting."

His anger somehow abated, he powered down the consoles and muttered, "yeah, you're right."

Klaxons blared in its drawl, repeat fashion throughout the hangar, warning the crew of the Death Star of an incoming freighter. Soldiers raced to and fro, as they readied themselves and watched in anticipation as the freighter finally landed within the austere and polished ground of the hangar.

An officer looked at a junior officer, clad in the same dark clothing, as he ordered, "inform Lord Vader that we have an unexpected guest."

* * *

**Author's Notes: Short, simple and straight to the point. I know this one was rather short, but there will be ones that are longer. I have finally completed all of my exams and now I am free, FREE! So with that said, expect a bit more regularly updated chapters in this fic, and I would like to thank those of you kind enough to wish me the best during my exams. I hope you enjoy more of my fics to come--especially this one.**


	12. A Chance Meeting

_A Chance Meeting _

The simulation was over.

Luke and Hunter had come to a draw.

Luke could only moan as he brought his head to the yolk. _I tied? I bet that high-ranking officer is going to have my hide._ The terminal shut off and the pod's hatch opened, forcing Luke to meet whoever the officer was, and inexorably, determine what fate had in store for the young man.

"Well done Lieutenant," an older gentleman said, wearing the bronze-brown officer's tunic of a Grand Moff. The older man's face was thin and his features were sharp. The older man happened to be Grand Moff Tarkin.

"Thank you, sir," Luke replied crisply, though in his heart he didn't really mean it.

"You have proven to be a very capable pilot—you managed to tie Lord Vader."

Luke was thankful for his flightsuit's mask, as he paled at the mere mention of the Emperor's right-hand man. _I tied with him?_ Luke found himself regretting everything he had ever said about the Dark Lord.

Before the conversation could go on further, however, the mechanical and laboured breathing of the dark figure interrupted. "You have done well, young Skywalker," the figure began.

Luke gritted his teeth, realizing Lord Vader was addressing him—and the young man happened to have his back turned on the man. Turning around slowly, he met the imperceptible gaze of the taller man. _I'd always wished that I could be as tall as him_, Luke thought lamely. "Thank you, Lord Vader," he bowed.

Vader eyed Skywalker closely, fully aware that the young man had covered his face in the mask. _He's shorter than me_, he thought lamely, as he tried to look for some suitable topic to speak of. His fists clenched, aware that the young man had _tied_ with him. Luke tying with someone such as himself did not allow Vader to get used to such things, and it didn't make Vader any more comfortable about the power the boy wielded. "Your skills are useful, Lieutenant," he said at last, his laboured breathing filling the eerie silence in the room.

"Thank you," Luke said, his eyes shifting nervously towards either side of him. _What do I say?_ "I—uh—I've always wanted to meet you," he said, closing his eyes and cursing in his mind. _Nice topic—now he's going to kill me!_

"And I've been looking forward to meeting you," the Dark Lord said, nodding. For all of those years dealing with aristocrats and politicians, Vader was thankful he had something to fall back on. "I've heard your skills are unparalleled."

"Well sir, it is my opinion that I try my hardest to be the best."

Vader smiled behind his mask, as Luke reminded the Dark Lord of the goals he had once carried. "Tell me, young Skywalker," he said, knowing full well that the young man was nervous and that this would most likely be the best time to spring his plan. "Do you know anything of the Force?"

"The Force?" The young pilot asked quizzically.

_Intriguing_, he thought. "Yes—the Force is an energy that surrounds us all, pulling us in its webs, binding us to the Universe," he said, remembering an ancient lecture by his old Master a long time ago. "There is hardly anything that can live without it."

Luke nodded slightly, almost as if he knew what the older man was talking about. Luke had, in fact, heard of this at some point. "I have heard of the Force—Ben, an old hermit I used to know, told me something about it."

"I see," he replied, "and is this 'Ben' still alive?"

"Old Ben? I don't think so," Luke said, furrowing his brow beneath the emotionless exterior of his mask.

"You and I shall have to have a talk about the Force—it runs strong in your family. I once…I _knew_ your father."

Luke's expression lightened up and his heart skipped a beat, as he could scarcely believe what the Dark Lord of the Empire had just told him. _He knew my father!_ Before Luke could say anything, however, a loud klaxon began to blare, as an officer rushed from the door, panting heavily.

"My Lord," the officer began, bowing, "we have captured a vessel."

Vader turned to face the officer, slightly angered that something had called his attention away from his son. He felt somewhat lightened, however, as he now had something with which to deal with. "I'll be on my way," he said, turning back to face Luke. "We'll continue this discussion at a later date, young Skywalker. We shall watch your career with interest." He grimaced slightly, remembering those words he heard from the man who would become his new Master so many years ago, when he was but a small boy.

"Yes, Lord Vader," Luke replied, bowing, as he watched Vader leave at a quickened pace. _That was close_, he sighed.

The Grand Moff faced Luke. "Your skills are quite impressive, Lieutenant," he said, trying to remember where he heard the vague surname of the pilot.

"Thank you, sir," Luke replied, tired but maintaining a crisp voice. _When will this be over?_

Almost as if to answer his silent question, Tarkin said, "I must attend to some…personal matters. I trust you'll attend to your duties, Lieutenant." Before he could leave, however, Tarkin paused for a moment and added, "I believe Lord Vader has taken an interest in you. You're the first pilot to match him stride for stride."

"Thank you, sir."

Tarkin nodded and left, adding the thought, _it would appear that the Emperor should hear of this soon_.

* * *

Vader traversed through the hallways and entered the turbolift, waiting patiently as it arrived to its stop.

He couldn't stop thinking about Luke.

_He has my eyes and the gentle soul of his mother_, Vader mused, feeling a cold, hollow feeling in his chest. _Padmé_, he thought, _you would have been proud of the boy_. He clenched his teeth, remembering the last time he would ever see her. It was obvious the boy hadn't been brought up by Padmé's family. It served as a reminder that he lost her before the boy was born and that she was nothing more than a bad memory that lived within the boy.

He felt a slight shaking and jingling, only to look down at his right hand, shaking slightly. He touched it with his left hand, calming it. He felt the phantom pains run across his arms and legs. The pain that had always found a way to remain there as a reminder of who he was and what he'd become.

A pain only Obi-Wan had brought to him but 20 years before.

Vader sighed. _Perhaps my former Master _is_ dead_, he mused darkly. _I would have suspected that he would have kept an eye on the boy, watching him grow and teach him the lies of the Jedi_.

The door opened and he stepped out of the lift, turning to move down the curved hallway that revealed a large, battered freighter in its adjoining hold.

Vader entered the hangar, noticing the sharp precision of the Stormtroopers who stood at attention, while others ensured the freighter was secure. He strode towards it, sensing no life aboard it.

Almost as if to confirm his feelings, a dark clad officer met the Dark Lord. "We've searched the vessel, Lord Vader," he explained, "there is no one aboard it. One escape pod has been jettisoned and the computer's log reports that the crew abandoned ship just after take-off. It's markings match that of the freighter that escaped Mos Eisley."

"Perhaps they were attempting to return the stolen plans to the Princess," he mused. "Sending a scanning party aboard—search every piece of that ship. This could still work in our favour." Vader nodded and the officer left. He focused on the hull of the ship, probing the signs of life and looking to see if they had hidden themselves within the vessel. Instead, he felt something masking itself, almost as if it didn't want to be hidden. As he continued to prod, feeling a similar tingling sensation run down the base of his spine, he found himself feeling a small iota of the presence of a man. An old man. A man he had not seen for a very long time.

"I sense a presence I haven't felt since…"

_Fire._

_Ash._

"_You turned her against me!"_

"_You were the Chosen One!"_

"_I hate you!"_

"_You were my brother…I loved you."_

_Searing pain._

_Fire._

_Ash._

Vader's eyes grew darker and his upper lip curled into a snarl behind his mask. He turned and stormed off. _So, you've come to finish the job, Old Man._

* * *

The stormtroopers moved throughout the ship, seeing nothing but standard components on a relatively abandoned ship. For all they cared, it was nothing more than a ghost ship. Spotting each other, the pair made their way down the landing ramp, leaving the ship to bask in its own emptiness.

A few moments later, a deck plate shifted, moving away to reveal a wary Han Solo.

"These plates have come in handy," Obi-Wan said quietly, rising from his hole.

"Yeah, I smuggle things through here. I never thought I'd be smuggling myself."

Chewbacca rose, revealing his upper torso as he let out a low growl of relief.

"Now we need to get out of here," Han muttered. "But we're not going anywhere without that tractor beam engaged."

"Leave that to me," Obi-Wan said, sensing the powerful presence of Vader, his former Apprentice. The old man had achieved the ability to mask his presence, however in ensuring that his companions would not be discovered, he masked theirs, revealing his presence in such a way that only a Jedi would have known it were him. Or worse, a fallen Jedi.

"Damn fool," Han replied, unaware of Obi-Wan's foreboding expression, "I knew you were going to say that."

Obi-Wan glanced at the smuggler. "Who's more foolish? The Fool or the Fool who follows him?"

Han merely scoffed. "You better have that tractor beam down."

"I will."

Chewbacca let out a growl of confidence in the old man.

* * *

The pair of Imperial officers carrying the large scanning equipment moved sloppily as they treaded up the ramp.

"Let us know if you hear anything up there," TK-421 said, as he guarded the ramp.

One of the officers nodded and the pair made their way up there.

Moments later, a loud thud could be heard, followed by another loud thud.

"Hey down there," a voice rang out, "could you give us a hand?"

TK-421 glanced at his companion and nodded. The pair moved up the ramp, leaving the freighter unwatched.

Moments later, a loud thud and a distinct mechanical whining could be heard.

Eerie silence followed.

* * *

Above in the watchtower, a greenish-yellow clad officer spoke through an open channel. "TK-421, why aren't you at your post?"

No reply.

"TK-421, do you copy?"

Almost as if to answer him, a lone white-clad stormtrooper came down the ramp, looking up to the control room, pointing at his helmet.

_Figures,_ the officer thought. He turned to face his compatriot. "Stand by, we've got a communication malfunction. He turned around and moved towards the door, opening it, only to be shocked as he was greeted by an enraged wookiee and an old man with two droids behind him.

In a blur, the wookiee pulled his crossbow and fired into the officer's chest, sending him back, while the old man shot forth, igniting an azure shaft of pure energy that sent a bolt flying back at the officer's companion, who fired it, square in the chest.

Moments later, the lightsaber deactivated and the clad stormtrooper, TK-421, came running down the hallway, locking the door and removing his helmet to reveal a shaggy haired Han Solo. Eyeing the scene, Han complimented, "not bad."

Obi-Wan nodded subtly, "thank you. Now if we can find where this tractor beam control is, then perhaps we'd be on our way quickly." His eyes shifted towards the computer terminal that R2 had begun to slice. Obi-Wan brought his hands into the folds of his robes, rubbing the cold sweaty and grimy hands on the cloth. _He's here_, he thought, hoping that Han and the others didn't know that Obi-Wan appeared apprehensive.

_He knows I am here_, the old man thought resigned to the inevitable. He had to protect the others and knew full well that Vader was here now and knew that the old man was on board. Obi-Wan also felt the presence of another—someone he thought he would never have found.

He felt the presence of Luke.

"Master Kenobi," C-3PO began, "R2 has located the tractor beam control terminals."

Obi-Wan nodded, looking through the readouts and turned around. "You stay here—I'm going to have to do this alone."

Han brought his hands up diplomatically, "I ain't going to argue, Old Man. Just hurry up, will ya?"

Obi-Wan nodded. _I'm coming for you Luke_, he thought determinedly, his fists clenched as he threw his hood over his head. He walked out of the room, moving as if he were stalking his prey throughout the polished floor and hallways of the Death Star. His hands caressed metallic cylinders on either side of his hips.

Obi-Wan moved towards his destiny, knowing he would soon have a chance meeting with Luke and Darth Vader.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I know, this was really delayed and not as long as I hoped, but I had a bout of writer's block. But soon I shall have the ball rolling--and we shall see what fate befalls Kenobi, Luke, Leia and of course, Vader.**


	13. A Race Against Time I

_A Race Against Time I_

Leaning against the wall, his head occasionally rapping against its cool surface, Han counted off the minutes in his mind. "What's taking the old man so long?"

Unlike his silent Wookiee companion, however, R2 twittered a response—one only his golden bipedal companion could understand.

"What's the tin can jabbering about?" The scoundrel asked, his brow furrowed and secretly glad that someone had decided to respond to his muttering.

"I'm sorry, sir," C-3PO began, attempting to listen carefully to his twittering companion, "but he says that he's found her and he keeps repeating it."

"Found who?" Han asked, watching the astromech continue to rant.

Growling in curiosity, Chewbacca did likewise.

Listening intently to R2, C-3PO finally managed to decipher what exactly the little droid went on with. "He says it's the Princess."

"The Princess—he's found the Princess? What Princess?"

The golden droid could only shake his head. "I'm not sure that I understand him. He could mean one of the passengers on our ship but--,"

R2 continued to twitter in excitement, forcing the protocol droid to hit its dome to shut up. The astromech blew raspberries.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," C-3PO said sincerely.

"Well, whatever it wants sure as hell beats staying here," Han muttered. "But I wasn't paid for this, so I don't think so."

R2 tooted a reply.

"But he says that she's slated to be terminated," 3PO translated.

"Better her than me." The scoundrel ignored the cry from Chewbacca.

Almost as if to reply to him, R2 muttered something else; causing 3PO to look at him in what would be surprise.

"What is it?"

3PO looked back at Han and then once more at R2. Reluctantly, he looked back at Han and said, "my companion says that she's…rich."

His ears perked up. "Rich?"

R2 tweeted.

"How rich?"

"He says that she is very rich and that the reward would be greater than one would imagine." If the droid could roll his golden eyes, he certainly would.

Han brought his gloved hand to his chin, stopping short as he realized he was still clad in the Imperial armour. Look back at Chewbacca, who returned the gaze, the long time smuggler formed a lopsided grin. "I might just have a plan, Chewie."

* * *

Luke wandered aimlessly throughout the massive station, his thoughts focused on the last few hours. _The Force?_

He continued trudging along inside the clear and bright hallways. His helmet filtered out the interference. All around him, however, soldiers raced through, moving towards the hangar bay.

There were rumours floating around the halls that the ship they had capture had unsettled Lord Vader.

Luke snorted. He scarcely believed there was any real thing that could scare someone as terrifying as the Dark Lord himself. Once more, his mind turned back to what Vader had said about knowing his father and that the Force runs strong in his family. The young man didn't know exactly what it meant, but he knew that as soon as this ordeal with the unknown freighter was over, he'd ask the black clad Lord himself.

It seemed the most appropriate thing to do, especially when it was the Emperor's lap dog that knew a poor farm boy's father.

Even Ben didn't know his father—or at least he did make such a claim. _Ben!_ Luke stopped short, leaving his friends, who continued unaware of their missing counterpart.

Turning about, Luke raced back to Vader.

There was something that didn't add up—Vader had asked about Ben and didn't seem satisfied that there was an old man who knew something similar to the ways of the Force. If Ben knew something that Vader didn't want known, then Luke may have inadvertently forfeited the hermit's life.

It would pain the young man to know that he might have caused Ben's untimely demise, but even he wasn't so sure that the hermit still lived.

His uncle Owen had said many tales of old Ben being a crazy hermit and to stay away from him.

Luke could almost recall one time when Ben had come for him, to teach him something that even he didn't understand.

Owen had chased off Ben, who apparently didn't want any harm to come to the boy. He clenched his fists. _Uncle Owen._ Luke could care less about him. He was tired of the older man trying to hold him back, telling him that he could go the next season and the season after that.

The old man just didn't understand that Luke needed to do this on his own. There was something about going to worlds that were as mysterious and inspiring as they were deadly. He could feel something urging him to explore the far depths of space and to make his mark.

Owen just didn't understand.

He walked through the common area, where officers and grunts met, often talking and relaxing off duty. He didn't care about that; all he was focused on at that very moment was searching for some kind of clue that he didn't cause someone to die because of his own carelessness.

His mind still reeled with the thought of learning about his father.

All he had known was that his father was a freighter jockey who had been killed.

Ben had said something vague about that being wrong, but Luke had never bothered to stay and find out. He didn't even think that Ben knew the concept of a father.

Perhaps the old man had been part of the Sand People but was exiled.

It would certainly make sense, especially since the hermit lived in the Jundland Wastes.

Shaking his head, Luke concentrated on finding Vader. He couldn't seem to shake off the thoughts of Ben and…something else. He wasn't sure, but he could feel himself being pulled towards the thought of the freighter. It almost felt like he was lost in a place that even he didn't know how to escape.

All of a sudden, he bumped into a junior officer, who looked startled at the black clad officer. "Sorry," Luke stammered.

The young man shook his head, wiping away the contents of the soup that had spilled on his chest. "It's…all right," was all that the young man replied.

"Really, I am so sorry. Here, let me help you with that," he offered, looking for something that would help him dry off the hot, coloured stain.

Shaking his head and speaking firmly, the young man quipped, "seriously, it's all right."

"Are you sure?" Luke asked.

The young man nodded.

"I'm still sorry. Let me make it up to you—a couple of the guys and me from the one-eighty-first are going to grab a few drinks. I'll buy you a few, sound good?"

He smiled tightlipped. "Sure, sounds good."

Luke smiled behind his mask, extending his hand. "The name's Skywalker—Luke Skywalker."

The young man's brow furrowed, his upper lip twitching for a moment. "Skywalker?" Quickly regaining his composure, he smiled and shook the young man's hand. "Nice to meet you, Luke, my name is Ciris Vauth."

"It's a pleasure. We'll be finishing our shift in two hours. Does that sound good?"

Ciris nodded, his smile growing wider. "Sounds perfect, I'll meet you guys here in two hours."

Luke nodded, "sorry again." He quickly took off, his search for Vader renewed with far more vigor.

Ciris looked at Luke, the word ringing in his head that reminded of a possible sighting. He had his orders, as did the others that he didn't know. The Emperor would do well to hear the name. His superiors would be proud of the news he'd bring them. It would only be a matter of time.

* * *

Vader stood in the briefing room, watching Tarkin's look of shock on his face.

"Are you saying Obi-Wan Kenobi is still alive? After all these years? I thought he'd be dead." It was obvious he wasn't taking the news rather well. The Jedi Knight had been more than just a thorn in his side.

Kenobi was one of the reasons why he was stuck as Governor on a backwater planet for a number of years longer than he should have been.

The name Skywalker didn't sit too well with him either. He remembered a young boy named Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan's apprentice. The young Jedi had sprouted into a powerful Jedi Knight, but shortly before the Order was given, something had happened to the young man that even _he_ didn't know.

There were rumours that the boy had been killed, but after twenty years someone with the name Skywalker strolls aboard the Death Star—his ultimate battlestation—and manages to match Vader stride for stride. Obviously something wasn't right and if Kenobi was still alive, it stood to reason that Skywalker's father was alive as well.

"Don't underestimate the power of the Force," Vader replied, watching the older man with a keen eye. He could sense the discomfort present in the man. He knew Tarkin was plotting something.

"I want him found, Vader," he ordered, rising out of his chair and tugging on his olive coloured shirt. "I want him found, the princess executed and that Skywalker brat in the detention cell until I have some answers!"

He couldn't help but raise a brow within his dark and terrifying mask. "What threat does Skywalker pose?"

Tarkin looked at Vader, almost as if he had asked the most absurd question conceivable. "Skywalker is a very dangerous threat."

Vader took a step, clenching his jaw and making his deep voice as crisp as it could be. "I will take young Skywalker under _my_ custody. He will pose no threat to anyone as long as I have him under _my_ control."

The older man looked at Vader, taking a step towards him and looking him in those dark soulless eyes. "You better be right about this, Vader. It's an awful risk having someone such as the boy here. Something doesn't feel right about this situation at all."

"I will deal with Kenobi myself. In the meantime," Vader added, turning about and moving towards the door, "Skywalker will not be a problem to us as long as you do not expose him to Kenobi." Without waiting for a reply, Vader left the chambers, his left hand gently caressing the long cylindrical tube on his belt. Comprised of silver and black components, he found a part of him aching to meet his former Master in combat once more.

There was no one who could best him anymore. He'd been unchallenged and the greatest fighter in twenty years.

If there was anyone who could threaten his existence, it was Luke, but Vader had no intentions of losing his son and his link to a better time.

He'd make sure Kenobi would pay with his life for all of the things he had taken away from him. Darth Vader had waited twenty years for the moment to confront Obi-Wan and now he would have a chance.

Nothing would stop him.

* * *

Taking his companion into the turbolift, Han quickly checked the cuffs on Chewbacca.

The only problem he found was that they weren't binding the Wookiee properly.

Even the notorious smuggler had his doubts about this half-wit plan working. He couldn't even believe that a small droid managed to talk him into doing this in the first place.

Sighing, Han made sure his blaster rifle was ready, as was the heavy rifle he kept in his free arm. "I'm telling you, Chewie, this might not work."

Chewbacca roared in agreement.

"Well you could have said something."

Chewbacca continued to roar.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that droids were a lot more resourceful than I thought?"

Chewbacca gave him another answer.

"Look, just make sure you can get out of those cuffs quick and maybe we'll rescue the princess and pay off Jabba in no time, okay?"

Chewie roared his agreement.

"Good, and for the record," Han continued, making sure he faced the exit, "I wasn't convinced by a droid. It just happened to spark an idea in my head."

Chewbacca looked at him, causing the smuggler to return the gaze.

"Really."

Before the Wookiee could reply, the doorway opened, revealing their backs to the officers sitting in their station. Turning about, the pair moved towards the men, who looked at the stormtrooper clad Han and the Wookiee with some suspicion.

One of the officers, a tired and annoyed looking man, rose and looked at Ha. "Where are you taking this…thing?"

Han bit his lip and then took a step forward. "Prisoner transfer from Cell Block one-one-three-eight."

He furrowed his brow. "We received no such call. Who put you up to this?"

One of the officers moved towards Chewbacca, his blaster raised and looking unsure at the Wookiee.

Stuttering for a moment, the smuggler watched Chewbacca remove his cuffs and smack the officer across the face, sending him down.

"Look out, he's gotten loose!" Han cried, quickly tossing the bulky rifle to Chewie, who picked it up and opened fire on two of the officers who trained their blasters on Han.

With quick reflexes, the smuggler fired a bolt into the chest of a guard at the far corner, and drew a bead on another guard patrolling the cell blocks.

Chewbacca had opened fire on the security systems, destroying the automatic blaster turrets and camera systems before anyone could pay attention at their half-thought up rescue attempt.

In a few moments, after the smoke settled, Han and Chewbacca looked at each other, surprised and impressed. Jumping over the terminal, Han set his blaster aside and cycled through the cell blocks, finding one with a beautiful young woman clad in white. He looked up and smiled at Chewbacca. "Wait here, I'll go get her."

Chewbacca readied his rifled towards the door, not realizing that a slumped body on one of the consoles had activated an open channel.

The Empire knew there was someone who was attempting to free the princess from their grasp.

* * *

Deep within the bowels of the large station he continued to tread carefully, shrouding himself with the powers of the Force, avoiding detection. He hid in a corner, waiting patiently for a small squad of stormtroopers leave the chambers in which he was present. The room was essentially a large bridge connecting to the other side of the room, with two large and round control stations to the left and right on the bridge.

He observed them carefully, his cloak still covering his balding head and Obi-Wan could feel the faint stirrings within the Force that told him only one important thing: Vader was on the move.

He hid behind one of the control stations, carefully adjusting the manual systems to transfer power away from the tractor beam generators. Twisting the knob, Obi-Wan could feel—and hear—the drop of power, which he confirmed by glancing at the readout panels.

Moving from one small corner of the workstation to the other, he continued his arduous task until he felt satisfied it was completed. Edging ever closer to the corner, hoping to make his way back to the bridge, Obi-Wan stopped short, watching the small squad walk by. Sensing something unusual, the Jedi Master waited, until he heard the voices of a pair of stormtroopers speaking about the latest models of speeders.

Pursing his lips and contemplating his next move, the Jedi Master waved his hand in the direction of the soldiers, who in turn heard a small cracking sound and turned to face it.

"What was that?" One of the soldiers had asked.

Seizing the moment, Obi-Wan fled, his movements quick and precise, bolstered by the gift of the Force itself.

After another moment, the stormtrooper's comrade said, "that's nothing. Did you see the new models they have out?"

_Only on the weak-minded and Imperials,_ he mused. Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Sorry this has taken me far too long to write. I really am sorry, but now I'm slowly getting back into the groove and I'm working on several of these chapters. Expect another update--a MUCH longer update--within a week or two. The plot is slowly going build up to famous scenes we all know and love, yet at the same time, we'll see what the Empire has in store for Luke and Vader.**


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